A Serendipitous Beginning
by Drex
Summary: Six years after Spike & Mike split, fate rears its ugly head in Sunnydale.
1. Default Chapter Title

## A Serendipitous Beginning

#### by  
Lisa Y. Drexel  
Chapter One

~~~~~  
All Good Things...  
~~~~~

* * *

It happened so fast, that for the first time in his immortal life, Spike was helpless.

He knew this day would come. He raged against it, fought it, denied it and ignored it—but somewhere, deep inside of him, he knew she would die.

It was destined; she was the slayer.

But not that evening. 

That night she was his mate, his lover—his date, as the eight of them met at the Bronze to celebrate not only Cordelia's and Xander's two year wedding anniversary, but as the last time the eight of them would be together—as friends and so much more—for Willow and Angel were leaving the next day to see the world. 

There were no prophecies of doom or portends implying the end of the world—they were free to go out and have a good time as only people who faced death, destruction and evil daily, could. 

It was a happy night.

No one was fighting—which in itself should've been an indicator to Spike that something was off. Xander and Angel weren't snipping at one another; marriage had softened Cordelia, so her snide comments were something of the past. Long ago, Willow and Oz had accepted their break-up and both were happy that the other was with someone that loved them. Amy, once uncomfortable as her role as lead witch in this ragtag group of 'white hats', was now in her element—at ease with not only her role in the ongoing war, but with herself as a witch and Oz's lifemate. 

And of course, Willow and Buffy's relationship was still as strong as the day they realized they were best friends. Men never could interfere with a friendship as strong as theirs.

And we couldn't forget Spike and Angel. For years, Spike only managed to tolerate his sire for Willow and Buffy's sake. His anger and hatred never dimmed with the reappearance of the souled Angel—some times, it was even reinforced everytime the bloody asshole would pull some self-righteous stunt on Spike. Not even a day after Methos has left Sunnydale five years ago, Spike had Buffy do the ritual to revoke Angel's invitation into his home.

He had yet to invite Angel back over. That in itself irked the dark-haired vampire to no end. Which, until recently, only made Spike giggle with child-like glee at the thought of his ability of getting underneath Angel's skin.

But that was changing. It happened so slowly that Spike wasn't even sure when he realized that he was actually started to like the arsehole. It wasn't until Buffy pointed out—quite righteously in fact—that he and Angel actually had been joking with one another at neither one's expense, that it occurred to him that his hatred was lessening. 

After a lot of thought, he realized she was right and knew immediately that he had Willow to thank for it.

As he watched her bounce in her chair that night—as if she were a little girl—as she talked of all the places she and Angel were going to visit, and observed Angel's easy grin at his love's expense, Spike swore he could see the former brooding vampire change before his eyes.

How could Angel not love her?

Willow was so much like Mike in that way. Like Mike had done with Methos and himself, Willow had taken the broken, guilt-ridden vampire and healed him with her soft heart and warm acceptance. And in the process, had somehow managed to bring out a playfulness and contentment that Spike instinctively knew hadn't been there since he had been turned. It had taken her nearly six years to do so, but somehow, Spike believed that he was finally getting to know Angelus O'Malley—the man underneath the vampire.

For years, Spike had watched, observed and studied his sire and now he finally figured the bloke out. The soul-filled, guilt-ridden Angel had so much darkness in him caused by the pain of his actions, that inadvertently he was much more like his demon counterpoint than anyone wanted to believe. 

Willow single-handedly seemed to do what no being had been able to do before; exercise Angel's inner demons.

The affect was mind boggling. 

Instead of the self-righteous prick that had been the bane of Spike's existence for over 200 years, there sat a vampire that could laugh, love, joke and even, Gods forbid, have fun.

Wonder's would never cease.

Spike actually liked the bloke now. Something, in all their years together, Spike never had done. Lusted after him—yes; feared him—yes; hated him—definitely. But like him? As Buffy would say, 'Get real.'

But it happened and Spike had Willow to thank for that. Just because she was herself, Spike now had a family.

If giving him his sire—the closest thing a vampire has to a father wasn't enough—there was always the gift of light she bestowed on him earlier in the week.

For five years, after finding out from Methos when he had been there, that there was a protection spell for vampires enabling them to go out during the day, Willow searched for it.

Ironically, it was an easy, small spell, that had been buried and hidden for thousands of years by an obscure sect of long dead sorcerers, because of its potential for evil. It had only taken Willow a little over a day to get all the necessary ingredients and her and Amy performed it in less than fifteen minutes, with Angel and Spike waiting nervously in front of them.

That same morning, Spike tested it by sticking his hand out the door.

When his hand didn't burn, he slowly inched out the door, with Buffy on his heels—every ready to save his life in case it failed, and together they say saw the sun. 

Spike cried for the first time since Mike had left him that morning.

The spell was only good for two hours a day and worked best when the sun was low in the sky—but to Spike, it didn't matter. Two hours were an eternity to him.

The following day, they spent the morning at the beach—watching the sun rise. They made passionate love in the sand—getting those irritatingly granules just about everywhere and then went on a morning swim in the ocean, washing themselves off.

Spike felt reborn that day. Closing his eyes, he could still see the sky—that deep violet that slowly turned into the most wondrous blue he had ever seen.

Buffy told him that morning that that the blue-gray-violet which had taken his breathe away, reminded her of his eyes.

All he could think of when she said that was, 'My eyes look like that?'

He still couldn't believe it.

As he leaned back and lit a cigarette, watching everyone laughing—seemingly catching Willow's good mood, he couldn't help but feel good. He was happy.

Who would've thought that William the Bloody, the Scrouge of Europe, would ever be so content—so bloody in love and glad that he had mortal friends—that he wouldn't trade them for anything. Not him. Ten years ago, without a moment's consideration, he would've killed whoever had dared to say that to him.

He felt someone squeeze his knee and turned to Buffy. Her green eyes were filled with mirth as she slid closer to him to whisper in his ear. "Penny for your thoughts."

He leaned back and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her small, but deadly body onto his lap. She squealed in delight as he felt six pairs of eyes turn on them.

"Get a room, junior," Xander said, grinning. There was a time when he had said those same words to him, yet with anger and hatred. Now all they did was make Spike laugh.

"Are you sure about that, mate? From what I hear, you could use some pointers."

"Spike!" Buffy swatted him playfully on the chest.

Cordelia blushed.

And the most amazing thing of all, Angel laughed full-heartedly.

Which caused Spike to grope the warm woman in his arms even more— eliciting even more comments from nearly everyone at the table.

Yes, all was right with the world.

Which was why it had to go to hell so soon afterwards.

~~~

Buffy's last squeal, caused by Spike's cool hands caressing her bare stomach, was interrupted by a eerie change of the air—much like an electrical charge. He stopped mid-grope, his eyes instantly scanning the area. Buffy's body stiffened and she pulled herself out of his grasp to stand up. Her body instantly stiffened; his lover, mate and date disappeared and the Slayer took her place as she stood on alert—battle ready.

Spike glanced over at Angel and his sire nodded as they both stood up and walked up to Buffy. Spike heard a small growl and intuitively knew that Oz had shapeshifted into his wereman form—a strange combination of both wolf and man that ironically reminded Spike of Michael Landon in the movie, I was a Teenage Werewolf. The magic in the air rose, clueing Spike in that both Willow and Amy were readying themselves to help with whatever was coming...

All this happened in less than thirty seconds.

His last thirty seconds spent with Buffy at his side were in preparation of a battle.

He never even got to say good-bye.

Then out of nowhere—this huge demon materialized right in front of his lover. Buffy jumped forward, ready to fight. He and Angel were quickly on her heels—but the demon, over eight feet tall, with four sets of tentacles—reached out and scooped the slayer off the ground and threw her across the room against the brick wall before Spike could even grab her arm.

It was fast. 

Faster than him.

Spike knew the sound of her breaking neck would haunt him for an eternity.

Then, behind him, he heard a soul-wrenching scream and half-way turned to see Angel collapsing onto his knees, crying out for Willow.

A bright blue light flashed in Angel's eyes--. 

--then the vampires came. 

A dozen of them rushed into the Bronze, grabbing anything mortal—killing those young teenagers on sight. 

He heard Willow cry out and turned around to see her trying to pull herself out of Angel's grasp.

The demon that killed Buffy disappeared in a flash of white light.

Tables were turned over as Xander and Oz began tearing them apart to use the legs for stakes. Pockets were emptied of various holy items—spells were being invoked by Amy—

And Cordelia screamed, "Angel! Don't! Please God don't!"

And Spike heard a laugh that had haunted him for years and would do so forever—a laugh that he thought was gone for all time.

Angelus was back.

Spike turned, stake in hand to see Angelus scoop up Willow's broken body into his arms.

Spike did the only thing he could do at the moment.

Save Willow. Dropping the stake, he flew at his sire, fangs dropped, eyes red in fury and yanked the witch out of his grasp—praying that her limbs would stay connected to her body. He didn't think she would want to live an eternity without any vital body parts.

Angelus fell back stunned at Spike's strength—and the blond vampire felt a cruel grin form on his lips. 

Cordelia, surrounded by a protection spell, watched the altercation with horror. "Get the others and get out of here—my house!"

"But—but Buffy—"

He growled, his eyes flashing. "Just do it, Delia!"

She nodded once and watched Spike take off into the air—straight through the skylight and disappear into the darkness.

He heard her yell for Oz and felt a small part of himself sigh in relief. _At least they'll be alright._

He didn't stop until he was at his front door.

~~~

With the phone in his hand, he tried dialing the Summers-Giles home at least a half-dozen times before he managed to get his shaking under control enough to dial the number through its entirety. So distraught, he finally hyper focussed, ignoring everything around him—even the scent of fresh blood that drifted through the air—or the picture of Buffy's dead body slumped lifelessly against the wall—and tried preparing himself to speak to Giles.

Gods, he prayed that it was the watcher that answered the phone and not Joyce.

He couldn't handle Joyce right now—because he failed her and Buffy—by letting the slayer die.

The gods must've listened to him and Spike sent out a silent thanks as he heard the Englishman say hello.

_Gods, give me strength..._

"Rupert? It's Spike."

The Watcher must've known something was wrong. Was it that infamous link between the Slayer and her Watcher that clued him in? Or was it the tone of Spike's voice? Or maybe it was the pain wrenching way he uttered the man's name?

"Wh—what's wrong?"

Spike took a deep breath, his eyes staring blankly at Willow's body that laid dead on his couch. "Buffy's dead."

He heard the mortal sob quietly and sound of him sinking into a chair. "What happened?"

"A demon. A huge, piss-ass ugly thing that just appeared out of fucking thin air in the Bronze. We only had about 30 seconds warning. And it was only us that had preternatural senses that knew something was happening." His voice caught, as he saw through his mind's eye the three of them, standing side by side, waiting. "She had barely taken a step forward when one of its tentacles whipped out and snatched her into its grasp. Giles, it was so quick— _I_ didn't even catch it moving. Not even two seconds later, she was dead.

"It threw her across the room—she hit the wall. Her—her—neck—bro—broke."

"Oh Lord."

"There's more, Giles. Gods help us, there's fucking more.

"Angel's gone."

"Dead?"

"Worse."

Silence. "Go on."

"He hurt Willow."

Spike heard Giles take a deep ragged breath. "Is she going to be alright?"

Spike pulled out a cigarette and lit it. His hands shook so hard, it took nearly a minute.

"No Giles, she isn't." He took a deep drag off of it, silently praying the nicotine would sooth the pain, anger and hatred in his heart. And the sorrow. The deep gut-wrenching sorrow. "She's a pre-Immortal and she died tonight. "

"How—how did you know? Or Angel for that matter?"

He blew out a lungful of smoke. "Mike told me. And Angel. Bloody hell, Giles, she actually sat Angel down and told him everything because even back then—before they were together—it was pretty bloody obviously how much in love they were.

"Giles, he tried to take her away. And I know it wasn't to play with her. He was going to take her head!"

"Oh heavenly Father," the watcher whispered, tears evident in his voice. "Are you going to call Mike or Richie?"

"Right after I get off the phone with you." Spike stabbed out the cigarette in the clean ashtray and wandered over to that blasted picture window he hated and nervously watched for his guests. _They should be here by now._ "And Giles, I think Dru and Morden are back. I felt something."

He turned around and leaned against the window sill and closed his eyes. 

"Spike?"

"Yeah mate," he answered, his voice so tired—so utterly weary. Was it just an hour before that he was happy—groping Buffy purposely to tease Xander? An hour ago when Willow was jumping up and down in her seat, talking of how her and Angel's first stop in their travels was to be Egypt—where she and Angel could watch the sun rise over the Great Sphinx?

"We'll be right over."

"Be careful."

The vampire hit the disconnect button only to have it ring, causing him to nearly drop the bloody thing.

"What?" he growled into the receiver.

"Will?"

His knees collapsed and fell down onto the floor.

Mike.

It was Mike. Gods help him—it was Mike.

"Are you alright? Is Buffy okay?"

Blood tears ran freely down his face. No, he shook his head. He wasn't alright. He'd never be alright again.

"Where are you, luv?" he asked, his voice ragged and low.

"Seacouver."

"Can you catch the next flight down? Willow needs you." Finally a sob broke loose. "I need you."

"I'll be right down."

He closed the phone and folded his long body in half, clutching his stomach as finally succumbed to the sorrow that had been threatening to over power him. He'd done his duty. He saved Willow. Fuck everything else.

Gods, he'd never be alright again. 

~~~~~~~~~~

to be continued in Chapter Two - All Beginnings Start With An Ending


	2. Default Chapter Title

## A Serendipitous Beginning

#### by  
Lisa Y. Drexel  
Chapter Two

~~~~~  
All Beginnings Start With an Ending  
~~~~~

* * *

**Seacouver, WA**  
_Joe's Blues Bar  
Same night_

"Oh, come on, you've got to be shitting me—there's no fucking way he's still alive!" Richie said, shaking his head dramatically right after downing the last of his beer.

Javier Vachon just shrugged his shoulders coolly and tipped his head in that infuriatingly sexy way that Mike secretly believed the vampire developed hundreds of years before as a way to entice mortals into becoming his next meal. Even after all Mike and Vachon had been through, that one gesture not only caused her to squirm in her seat, but also tended to provoke a wide range of emotions beginning with feeling like a poor fly caught in a spider's web and ending with her wanting to whip out her sword and just kill herself and him and any other poor soul that got in her way.

As usual, she ended up responding just by shifting uncomfortably and ignoring the rush of heat that centered around her sex. She glanced at Richie as the Immortal poured another glass of beer from the fourth pitcher they had drunk that night. He then looked up and their eyes met and the unspoken question passed between the two: Is he bullshitting me, or not?

Mike just shrugged. 

She really had no idea. 

Even after all the blood sharing those two had done, Mike still only knew what the vampire wanted her to know. Who knows, maybe he was telling the truth. 

Maybe.

"You're serious, aren't you?"

"What do you think?"

The red-head Immortal shook his head as he scowled. "I think you're yanking my chain. I mean, Jim Morrison? That's like saying Elvis Presley really did get abducted by aliens!"

Mike eyebrows raised at that. "I never heard that. Are you serious? People actually believe that?"

Richie's eyebrows creased in irritation. "Where the hell have you been, Mike? Of course they've been saying that. Or they said that. Not anymore. Alien rumors have died down a lot in the past few years."

Mike couldn't help herself. She started giggling. It was quick, hard and uncontrollable. Remembering what she had been told by Alex Krycek, she couldn't help but wonder maybe that's why the aliens fled—pollution of the gene pool or something...

She felt Vachon's eyes on her and she glanced up, still shaking as low, chuckles rumbled out. A picture of an overweight, wasted Elvis Presley shot through her mind as he tried picking himself off the toilet stool to greet the visitors from outer space...

Another loud cackle escaped.

"Querido," Vachon admonished, desperately trying to keep his face expressionless. He was failing miserably.

"I'm sorry—" she then stopped, her laugh dying with her voice. Suddenly, it felt as if someone had ripped out a piece of her soul. She gasped loudly and shoved back her chair, tipping it over. Stumbling, she turned and ran to the restroom, not even acknowledging the woman she almost ran over or her two friends that were calling after her.

A heavy, black shroud of pain seemed to encompass her whole being as she leaned against the sink, steadying herself. Distantly, she realized that blue sparks were igniting around her, but she couldn't wrap her mind around it. All she felt was pain. And what she saw, broke her heart.

Though nothing was coherent—just a jumble of emotions and images that flashed quickly through her heart mind: Buffy —dead, Spike—devastated, Willow—dead, and Angel—Angelus. 

And then she came back to herself—and promptly fainted.

~~~

Everything hurt.

_This was so not right,_ Mike thought to herself, idly wondering where she was.

Her brain actually ached. Her body sang in discomfort. All her senses were off the scale and so eschewed, she had no idea what was where or who.

As she lay there, she realized she was hearing voices, whispering urgently in the background. 

"I felt it, Joe. It was like a mini-Quickening. Why do you think I barged in there?" Richie said, his voice laced with worry and concern. 

She heard the Watcher sigh. "Richie, what you're saying is impossible. At least I think it is."

"I felt something too," Vachon interjected. "Not a Quickening though—more like a shadow of a presence—a vampiric presence."

_Is that why I can hear them now?_ she asked herself.

The watcher sighed and Mike heard him rub his face. She knew that gesture well—Joe always did that when he was tired—emotionally tired. "So, what was it, boys? A Quickening or a vampire?" As calm as Joe Dawson's voice sounded, Mike could actually feel the frantic thumping of his heart...

Calling her...

Biting her lip, she took a deep breath and began those mental exercises that Cassandra had taught her over five years before.

Then it hit her.

The link.

Her eyes snapped open and she sat up, wincing as her neck screamed in agony. _What the fuck is going on here?_

"Mike! You're up," Joe said, as he quickly came to her side and sat down beside her.

"At least I think I am," she said as she carefully turned her head to meet his eyes. "I need a phone."

"What happened?"

"Are you hurt?"

"Were you attacked?"

"I felt a Quickening?"

"Was it a vampire?"

Ignoring both Vachon and Richie, she repeated her request for the phone.

One appeared in front of her. Dialing from memory, she called her old phone number in Sunnydale and prayed that Spike was there.

She would know if he died, wouldn't she?

On the fourth ring, he answered. "What?"

She nearly jumped back at the loudness of his growl. His pain was nearly palatable through the phone. _Hell, who needed a link?_ she asked herself.

"Will?" A thousands questions were on her lips, but the moment he heard her voice, the link, that for the most part, that had been dormant for over six years, opened completely.

She almost fell over from the pain.

"Are you alright? Is Buffy okay?" Stupid questions, but she had to hear it verbally from him. She had to know that she wasn't crazy and this wasn't a form of Immortal madness.

She almost wished it were.

_no, i'm not alright—never be alright again..._ "Where are you, luv?"

She felt his soul scream. _Gods, how can he even speak?_ "Seacouver."

"Can you catch the next flight down? Willow needs you." Finally, the tears that were flooding his heart and soul, came out in a huge, pain-wracking sob. "I need you."

_You don't even have to ask...oh goddess, willow...buffy...where's angel?_

Silence. Just deafening pain.

"I'll be right down."

_hurry, luv...please hurry..._

He hung up.

For nearly a minute, she sat there on the couch, hugging the receiver, wishing it were Spike as she felt his heart splinter into countless pieces. Each emotion was loud and encompassing: abandonment, helplessness, loneliness, anger, rage, hatred, and horror.

Someone pulled the phone out of her grasp causing her to jump in response. She glanced up to see Joe holding it, worry etched across his aging face.

"Buffy was killed tonight. I saw it—through Spike—" her throat closed and she coughed, trying to find her voice. "At the Bronze—and Willow—she needs us now," she finished as she glanced at Richie, hoping that he understood.

"Not that?"

"I saw a flash of Willow. She did die tonight." Mike frowned as she tried to figure out where Angel fit into this. A part of her wanted to ask Spike—but she didn't dare until she could hold him in her arms. A broken, rage-filled vampire was not something the rest of the gang needed in Sunnydale right now. The emotions flying around his sire were so intense: love, hate, and concern. "And something happened with Angel. Something bad."

"Dust?"

She carefully shook her head, still feeling that ache in her neck. "No, something else." She absently touched the tender spot on her neck and nearly jumped at the pain. _Just ignore it for now_ she thought as she stood up and walked over to Vachon. "Can you fly me down there now?"

His eyebrows creased and Mike could tell he was trying to read her—tap into her emotions. "Fly?"

She nodded slowly.

"Mike, what's wrong with your neck?" Richie asked as he stepped up behind her and lifted her hair up. She heard a sharp intake of breath. "Holy shit—where did you get that bruise? From the sink? It should be gone by now!"

She brought her hands up in a defensive position. "Not now. We don't have time." _Besides, how do I tell them that it's not my bruise—its Buffy's. And that somehow when Buffy died—I felt it physically. How do I tell them that this link included the Slayer? Or anyone else that Spike chooses to be intimate with? Or that if Spike was of sound mind right now, that he would know much more about Vachon than either vampire would ever care to?_

She couldn't. It was too crazy. 

So, she didn't. 

"We need to go now. I'm okay and it will go away. Trust me," she said as she clasped Richie's hands into hers. "What I need from you, is for you to book a flight to Sunnydale. Right after you do that, I would like you to stop off at our hotel room and pick up some luggage that we won't be able to take with us. Just pay the extra to take it with you." She turned, still holding one of Richie's hands and silently begged the vampire. "So, will you?"

He nodded, carefully keeping the expression on his face neutral even though she could feel a whole host of emotions flying out from him. _Damn vampires,_ she silently cursed. _I don't even have any room for my own feelings..._

"Good, then everything's set?"

Both of them nodded. Mike dropped Richie's hand and leaned over and gave Joe a small hug and kissed him on the cheek. "Sorry about this. Will you tell Mac when he gets in? Also, I'll call you and fill you in."

"Sure thing, Mike," he said as kissed her forehead. "Be careful. Sunnydale is—"

"Sunnydale," Mike finished for him. "I know and I will. Let's vamoose, peoples," Mike said as she took a deep breath, silently hoping her legs had the strength to actually walk somewhere. That, plus she felt her emotional control was iffy at best. She hoped that she could maintain what little hold she had on her feelings until her and Vachon were well on their way to Sunnydale.

Then she would collapse—when Vachon was already holding her tightly.

~~~

Unfortunately Vachon had too many questions to ask to keep his silence once they were alone. Although Mike had to give him credit where it was due; he didn't lay into her until they were in their hotel room. But the moment the hotel door closed, he suddenly had her in his arms, his grip unwavering, staring deeply into her eyes.

"Querido, speak to me. I know you're not telling me everything."

"Jav—"

"Don't Mike! I know that tone. That's the 'just trust me—I don't want to get into it' tone. Tough shit. Get into it or I'm not going anywhere," he said as he dropped his arms and nearly flew to the bed, flopping down dramatically—laying on it lengthwise.

Mike sighed loudly and did the only thing she could think of—lifted the hair off her neck—offering her blood as the explanation.

"No," he said adamantly. "Not now. Too much weird shit's happening because of bloodlinks to add me and you into the mess."

"Shit, you're right," she said as she picked up her suitcase from the closet and set it on the corner of the dresser, balancing it precariously. "It's just that I don't know if I can right now. I've got so much swirling around inside of me. The link—it's open—it's wide open now. I can feel and hear everything that's going on with Spike right now. I'm also picking up some of your stuff—plus my own. I loved Buffy? How could I not?"

"That's what I don't understand." He got up off the bed and picked up his duffel bag. 

"Oh come on, you can't tell me you didn't feel a bit of her in me everytime you drank from me? Especially after a Quickening? Remember that first Quickening? He was right here—and so was she—inside me. What happened tonight was she came back—that part of her that Spike gave her when he drank from her came back to me. And that, plus his pain. That's the only logical explanation."

She began to laugh. Logically. What a fucked up term to describe bloodlinks. She turned back to the dresser and began stuffing her clothes into the suitcase, ignoring the near dozen times it nearly fell. Once she cleaned out the dresser, she went into the bathroom and began gathering their bath items. Shampoo, creme rinse, toothbrushes and toothpaste. Once her hands were full, she dumped those items into the suitcase and then quickly zipped it up.

After that, she picked up her backpack and silently thanked herself for not unpacking it and tossed it onto the bed. Vachon's duffel bag soon followed and finally he joined her on the bed among all their luggage. "Aren't you glad we didn't have a chance to really unpack?" she asked him as she turned on her side. 

He nodded. "I guess I should call LaCroix and tell him, shouldn't I?"

"Yeah, you should."

Minutes later he was off the phone and staring at her. "Mike, bloodlinks aren't supposed to be like this, you know? I've never had heard of anything so convoluted as you and Spike's link."

"I know. It's the demon-vamp—Immortal thing. I'm surprised no one else has ever really investigated it. It's gotta have happened before us—obviously it did or you wouldn't be here. But I feel like we're constantly swimming in uncharted waters here. Everything that happens just becomes another piece of a puzzle that's never finished." She yawned loudly. "Gods, I'm tired. Are we going to be alright? Do you think we'll make it?"

"Yeah, it will be cutting it close though. It's early—not even ten yet. It should only take us six—maybe seven hours. Like I said, it'll be close. And I may end up needing to feed from you—at least once—if not more while we're up there. You do realize that?"

She grinned. "Yeah, so much for keeping our bloodlinks straight, eh?" A feeling of sadness hit her. She glanced over at Vachon and saw a flicker of pain cross his face. "I'm sorry—what a way to end this between us. I never wanted to hurt you, you know?"

"Querido, I know that. I knew that you would always be his first and then Methos' and finally me. It was enough—because you're not just a lover to me. You're my heart. The sex was incidental. I love you in a way that only another vampire could understand. Urs and I were lovers for years—but she was my childe first and foremost. And when we weren't lovers—she still was my childe. I don't know if I'll ever bring someone else across again—but you're my childe." A blood tear slid down his face. Mike caught it and brought it to her mouth. His pain for her. His love for her. Her control finally broke as a torrent of tears ran down her face. 

He wrapped his arm around her shaking body and held her close to his chest. Mike hung onto him—his cool body giving her the strength not only to let go of him, but in the coming hours, be the strong one in Sunnydale. She prayed that he understood just how important he was to her—despite the changes that were going to occur with them. 

He was her teacher, her trainer, her lover and her friend.

He was her sire. 

And just knowing that he would always be there for her was enough to help her stand on her own. 

She just hoped he knew that.

~~~~~~~~~~

to be continued in Chapter Three - Everything Changes Now


	3. Default Chapter Title

## A Serendipitous Beginning

#### by  
Lisa Y. Drexel  
Chapter Three

~~~~~  
Everything Changes Now  
~~~~~

* * *

Seeing a broken Spike was not something Xander ever wanted to witness. 

In the eight years he had known the vampire—first as an evil witty demon, then a year later, as a souled one, he had observed Spike in his many faces: hopelessly in love, heartbroken, angry, disabled—but never broken.

The vampire that was curled up on the floor under the window was just that—broken.

And if that hadn't been enough to crack Xander's own fragile control, the broken, dead body of his best friend on the couch would surely do the trick.

Why did Spike bring Willow's body back to his house, yet leave Buffy's at the Bronze?

The Slayerette sighed and went into the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of bloodwine out of the refrigerator. With that in hand, he kneeled down in front of Spike and gently shook his shoulder.

"Spike."

The vampire looked up and Xander had to bite the inside of his cheek not to back away at the sight of yellow, inhuman eyes that met his. Instead, he carefully handed him the bottle of bloodwine, forcing himself not to flinch when his cool fingers touched his.

Spike took it, oblivious of the red streaks decorating his otherwise pale countenance and ripped the cork out with his fangs.

He drained the bottle in less than a minute and handed it back to Xander.

"Need another one?"

He nodded. "But no—no wine. In the back. It's labeled Spike's Special," the vampire said, his voice so low it was wavering on growling.

Xander turned and nodded to Oz to go and get and it. The werewolf disappeared into the kitchen.

"Why did you bring Willow back here?"

Spike shook his head and reached for the bottle Oz was holding. The werewolf handed it to him and then nervously glanced at Willow's form.

"Yeah Spike, why?" Oz asked quietly.

The vampire's eyes shut as he struggled to control himself. "Because she's a bloody Immortal or at least will be as soon as she revives."

Xander heard his wife suck in a deep breath. "That's why Angelus killed her," she whispered as she kneeled in front of Willow's body. "Amy, we need to clean her up."

The witch numbly nodded and reached for Willow's dead hand. "I'll meet you in the spare bedroom."

Cordelia nodded and watched as Amy transported herself and Willow out of the room.

"Oh Jesus," Oz said as he fell back into a char. "You're saying that he knew?"

Spike pulled himself off the floor and grabbed the now nearly empty bottle of fermented blood and uncaringly flopped down on the soiled couch. "Yeah, the wanker knew. Mike and Richie told him back in St. Louis when Peaches and Willow were searching for me."

"But to kill her?" Oz asked. "That doesn't make any sense."

"Sure it does," Xander snapped, feeling the horror of the evening settle on top of him. "Angelus is back and I'll bet he wants to kill anyone who has the power to bring soul-boy back. And Willow, she's a threat on two fronts. Not only does she know the curse, but her Immortality itself is a threat." He turned to Spike, his mind churning as he tried to remember Spike's words nearly six years before. "What was it you said about Mike? That you found a demon's dream come true in her? Blood freely given. Better blood than you'd ever had before and best of all, the well never dried."

The vampire nodded. "I'm sure Angelus looks at me and thinks I'm whipped. Bloody hell, I know I'm not the same vampire I was when I first came here with Dru. But my soul didn't change me near as much as being in that wheelchair and having to live with that pillock for five months."

Xander nodded sympathetically. Of all the demons and uglies that they as a group faced in the past nine years, no one instilled as much horror and terror into the group as Angelus did. Not the Judge, Acalthla, or even the Master. 

Nope, Angelus had the prize in that category. And even though Xander knew why, it didn't make it any easier to deal with; Angelus knew everyone—almost intimately—and used that knowledge to instill terror and his own perverse sense of fun—causing countless nightmares to follow for years afterwards. 

"Giles and Joyce are here," Oz announced softly as he opened the front door and waved them in.

Joyce stepped inside first and Xander immediately noticed that her face was still red and blotchy from crying. But, like her daughter, she still possessed a quiet, inner strength that seemed to radiate a sense of calm that affected everything around her. When Joyce was like this—Xander would find himself wanting to run over and hid behind her skirts, just like a small child would when under the protection of his mother.

That's what Joyce had—that mother lioness aura—the same one that Buffy possessed.

Giles, on the other hand, appeared devastated. Xander hoped it wasn't an indication of things to come because he really needed the Watcher to be strong.

Hell, they all needed Giles to be strong.

Joyce let go of her husband's hand as her eyes landed on Spike.

She immediately walked over and sat down across from him on the coffee table.

"Spike?"

The vampire raised his head, obviously unaware of the red streaks of dried blood tears that painted his pale, marble appearance. His face was still vamped and Xander wasn't surprised. He knew enough about vampires to suspect that Spike didn't even realize it; the pain and agony of the night was too fresh and intense for him to control his vampiric state.

"Oh Joyce," he moaned, his voice cracking. "I'm so sorry. It was so fast—I couldn't—I didn't even get a chance to try!" 

He suddenly pushed back from her gentle touch and pulled his body over the side of the couch and went into the kitchen. Xander heard the refrigerator door open and slam shut.

He felt Giles eye's on him and turned while holding up three fingers, knowing what the Watcher was asking him; how much so far? How many until they had a drunken and devastated vampire on their hands with the only two people who could possibly control him not available.

Buffy and Mike.

But Joyce seemed undeterred as she rushed to follow him into the kitchen. Although Xander didn't follow them, he heard what she said all the same.

"Don't you dare, Spike! God damnit, quit it! Cry. Mourn. Even get mad, but don't you dare start blaming yourself for something we all knew was just a matter of time: Buffy was going to die!"

Her heard the vampire moan and suck in an unneeded ragged breath. "But not tonight. Bloody hell, she didn't have to die tonight!"

Xander couldn't help but agree with the blond vampire. Yes, they all knew that slayer's lives were on a mystical timetable—ready to end at any given moment. But that didn't mean that Xander didn't secretly believe that Buffy would beat the odds—like she had done so many other times. Her unorthodox methods had earned her added years to her shortened lifespan. 

Years that he was sure everyone was hoping would turn into decades.

It just wasn't so.

Xander sighed and leaned against the bookcase that doubled as a room divider separating the kitchen from the living room and ran his hands through his hair. He was exhausted and worried about Cordelia as well as Willow and Spike. He even felt weight of Angel's loss as it settled on his heart. Like Spike, it had taken nearly the whole time since the vampire had been rescued by Willow from Hell, for Xander to begin to trust him again, and now that he had, the vampire was gone. Sure, he knew that Angel could return; they had the curse as well as Willow's Immortality—but something told Xander that Angelus wouldn't be too keen on allowing soul-boy to be on top, so to speak, and inwardly feared that Angel was gone forever this time.

God, he hoped not. 

Especially for Willow's sake.

His best friend was no longer the shy, computer nerd of their childhood, but her heart was still as vulnerable as it had been when they were fifteen. And she had given Angel her heart long ago—probably before he had lost his soul the first time and now Angelus held it in his cold demon hands like a cat ready play with its food.

And if Angelus' previous actions were any indications on how vindictive and cruel he could be, Willow and the rest of them by proxy, were not in for a good time. Xander could only hope that Spike's present vampiric state, with the addition of Vachon, Mike and Richie, would be enough to be able to not only protect themselves but to somehow capture and contain Angelus.

*_Yeah, and my wish list isn't too big, is it?_* he said to himself as he watched Amy stick her head out of the bedroom door.

"Xan, get Giles. She's awake!"

He turned towards the watcher only to see the elder man rush passed him and make his way down the hallway. Xander followed, only peripherally aware of Oz right on his heels. 

As he stepped into the bedroom, he saw Willow sobbing on Cordelia's chest. "Wh-what happened? Angel? Where's Angel? Where's Buffy?"

He started to move forward only to be pushed aside none-too-gently by Spike. Biting his lip against the caustic comment dying to slip out, he watched the vampire make his way over to the bed where Cordelia and Willow sat.

The vampire held out his hand for Willow and Xander watched his best friend pull herself out of Cordelia's arms and reach for it.

It was then that Xander noticed that for the first time since the craziness of the evening had begun, that his vampiric visage was gone.

"Spike? Where's Angel? Or Buffy—" she asked as she shakily stood, clasping Spike's hand so tightly that Xander noticed her fingers were turning white. 

"Willow—" Cordelia began.

"Where's my clothes? What the hell is going on here?"

Spike grabbed her other hand and pulled her in front of him. She finally looked up and gasped loudly. She freed one hand and lifted it to his face, tracing the red stains caused by his blood tears. "You're crying...?" A look of horror crossed her face. "Oh my Goddess—" Her knees buckled and he caught her easily. She wrapped her arms around him and moaned into his chest. "He's gone, isn't he?"

Spike nodded, dipping his head to muffle his sob in her hair. "I'm sorry, pet."

"And Buffy?"

He just nodded again. Grimacing, he looked over her head and his eyes landed on Xander. The vampire tipped his head towards the door and Xander nodded. He then reached for Cordelia, who, once Willow pulled away from her, had got up from the bed and went over to stand next Xander. Together turned towards the door, knowing that the rest of them would follow. Everyone understood that Spike was what Willow needed now.

Within a minute, the six of them were back in the living room, silently staring at one another. Partially in shock—partially from exhaustion. Xander pulled Cordelia tightly against him and rested his hands on her abdomen, silently praying that everything was alright. He watched as Joyce spied the blood-stained couch and sigh heavily. Xander saw her control begin to wane and noticed that whatever self-induced stupor that Giles had been residing in, disappear as soon as he realized that Joyce needed him. He walked over and put his arm around her and then turned to Oz. "Oz, see if he's got any coffee or tea, will you? And Amy, can you go and get a couple of towels from the bathroom so we can cover this up?"

"Sure thing, Giles," Amy said quietly and disappeared down the hallway. 

Xander moved over to one of the easy chairs and flopped down in it, pulling Cordelia down onto his lap. With his arms tightly wrapped around her, he listened to the familiar sounds of coffee of being made and tried not to think of all the things that he had lost that night.

It only made him less appreciative of things he still had.

And he was never going to make that mistake again.

~~~

"Dead?" Willow whispered. "Really—not just almost?"

Despite everything that had happened that night, Spike almost chuckled outloud at her question. Only on the Hellmouth would such a question ever need to be asked. "Really, Will."

"Why am I not dead then?"

The vampire pulled back and sat down on the bed. He patted a spot next to him and she scrambled up and sat closely next to him, unconsciously taking comfort from his vampiric state—so like Angel's.

"Pet, you're an Immortal," he said quietly, his arm around her shoulders, holding her close.

"What? Since when?"

He shrugged. "Since always, I presume."

He glanced over at her, watching as she chewed on her bottom hip. "He knew, didn't he?"

Spike nodded. "Mike told him. That night when she first met you—at Wolf's Bane."

"Did anyone else know?"

"Not until tonight when I told them. Everyone was a bit curious as to why I grabbed an obviously dead Willow out of Angelus' arms, but left Buffy—"

"Because you knew that Buffy really died—" she stopped mid sentence as a sob escaped. "Oh Goddess, Spike, I'm so sorry."

"Oh love, there's nothing to be sorry for," he said as he wrapped his arms around her small, shaking frame. "After all the things you've done for me—I couldn't let that bloody wanker destroy you."

She lifted her head, her green eyes wide and shocked.

"Besides, I promised Mike. And believe me, it was a promise I had no problem keeping," he added softly.

She nodded slowly as she pulled herself out of his arms and rubbed her wet face.

"Immortal, eh?"

He smiled at her.

"That means I can save him, doesn't it?"

He nodded once. "Or you could curse him, then save him."

She bit her lip again and shook her head. "Nope, no more curses. There's a limit," she let out a harsh laugh. "Can you believe that? Apparently a body's not supposed to lose its soul once—much less three times. If I tried cursing him again, I'd destroy both Angel and Angelus. No, I'll have to do this the hard way.

"We'll have to do this the hard way. You're not alone with all this. You have everyone in this house ready to stand with you—to fight for you. As well as Mike, Richie and Vachon."

She turned as a small smile slipped out. "Mike's coming?"

"I talked to her tonight. She and Vachon are flying down as we speak. Richie's taking the human route and booked a seat on the first available flight."

Spike closed his eyes, suddenly feeling so drained that all he wanted to do was slither into his bedroom and crawl under the covers and hide for about a week. 

"Spike?"

He looked up to see a very earnest Willow standing next to him by the bed. "She really loved you. You do realize that? I mean, just a couple of days ago, she to-told me that you—you were the love of her life—not Angel. But you."

Spike felt his undead heart clench at her words. *_A flame. She was my hot burning flame._* "Thank you. Willow."

The redhead sighed softly as she shuffled her feet and looked downwards. "You know what the hardest part of this is? I really wish I could talk to Angel about Buffy. And Buffy about Angel. I lost both of my best friends tonight...and now, he's out there," she said as looked up and met his eyes.

Spike nodded, ironically feeling the same way. With both Buffy and Angel gone—he felt a hole in his heart that he wondered if it would ever be filled. For the first time in over 100 years, he needed Angel and the son-of-bitch wasn't there. "Bloody hell, I knew I shouldn't have trusted that bloke!"

He felt her eyes bore into his head, but he refused to look up, wanting to revel in his anger. It was easier this way. Anger was always easier than heartache.

"Spike! Angel really worked hard for that trust! Don't blame him for the demon's action. Hell, you can't even blame him for losing his soul. There was some powerful magic at work tonight," she said as she sat down on the edge of the bed. Her stomach suddenly growled loudly, causing her to jump.

"Wh—what was that?"

Spike finally looked up, chuckling softly as he shook his head. After standing up, we went over to the dresser and pulled out a pair of sweat pants from one of the drawers. He tossed them over to her. "Luv, why don't you finish getting dressed and meet me in the kitchen. You need to get some food in that stomach of yours. Dying takes a lot out of you."

"Oh," she said and glanced down at her bare legs, blushing, much like the same innocent Willow that he had gotten to know so many years before. Her hands touched the hem of the extra large tee-shirt that hung down well past her mid-thigh and made a face. "Okay."

Spike grinned at her unease and opened the bedroom door to leave, only to be stopped by her voice. 

"Thank you, Spike," she said so softly that if he hadn't been a vampire, he doubted if he would've heard her.

"You're welcome, pet. We'll just be out there, if you need anything."

"Okay."

Spike closed the door and took a deep, unneeded breath, preparing himself to face the rest of his friends. *_Gods, I wish Mike were here,_* he thought to himself and almost immediately he heard her reply in his mind.

*_We're coming, hun. Flying over Oregon as we speak..._*

He sent her a silent thanks and began the short trek to his living room, not at all ready to face a household full of anxious, mourning guests.

~~~~~~~~~~

to be continued in Chapter Four - And So it Begins...


	4. Default Chapter Title

## A Serendipitous Beginning

#### by  
Lisa Y. Drexel  
Chapter Four

~~~~~  
And so it begins...  
~~~~~

* * *

Willow barely managed to remain standing long enough for the door to close. Her knees buckled as the pain of the evening crashed down on her.

Random scenes of the night flashed through her mind: Angel and her in bed, wrapped tightly in one another's arms as each of them reveled in the wonder of their love; the pillow fight—Willow won only because she used magic, but her defense to her sputtering lover was she needed all the help she could get; dinner—Angel sipping his, Willow gorging on hers, Angel teasing her about her appetite—Willow playfully retorting that she had to keep up her strength if she wanted to keep up with him; the Bronze—as she talked of the Sphinx and the pyramids, barely able to contain her happiness and love all the while feeling her lover's eyes on her—soaking in appearance—almost as if he was memorizing it for future reference; Cordelia's news—whispered conspiratorially to Buffy, Amy and her while the four of them went to the restroom—she was pregnant.

Willow felt a pang of remorse, knowing that she could never have children with Angel, but knew there were ways around that.

"Oh Goddess," she moaned outloud, as she pulled her legs up and hugged them tightly to her chest. As she rocked back on forth on the floor, she remembered: Immortals were infertile—she could never carry a child herself.

And then the air changed around them. Angel, Spike and Buffy stood up and Willow glanced at Amy and pointed to Cordelia. Together they wove a powerful protection spell around the former prom Queen, guaranteeing her and the life inside of her, safety.

The horrible cracking noise of Buffy's head connecting to the brick wall.

The soul-wrenching scream of Angel's.

And the evil laugh of Angelus' as he raked his claws down her chest and then punched her—damaging her heart.

The last thing Willow heard before she slipped into unconsciousness was Cordelia's scream: "Angel! Don't! Oh God, please don't!"

And then she woke up here, in Spike and Buffy's home, in a tee-shirt, with Cordelia and Amy hovering over her.

"Angel, I miss you," she whispered into the air as stared at the floor. "I miss your cool hands as they hold me and tell me everything will be alright. I miss your laugh—your gentleness—your love—and how when you're around, everything feels like it should..."

She shut her eyes, biting her bottom lip, relishing in the self-induced pain. "And Buffy—I could use some pointers, ya know? In 50 words or less, how to deal with Angelus. Gods, I'm so scared. I don't know how to use a sword. I don't want to live forever if I can't have him by me. I already feel like I lost something I'll never be able to get back—your love and loyalty and friendship. And Spike, you should see him. It's taking everything out of him just not to collapse. He's worse now than he was when Mike left. At least she was still alive—he could feel her presence if he chose to. I don't think he's ever lost anyone he's loved before—at least not as a vampire. " 

Her voice drifted off, as she remembered the shaking of his body as he told her about Angel and Buffy. *_He's devastated,_* she thought to herself. *_And yet he came in here to help you..._*

Willow unwrapped her arms around stretched out on the floor, studying her long legs.   
  
Immortal.

She bent over and studied a scar on her knee, remembering the bike accident she had when she got it; she had been with Xander and Jesse and they were going to the movies—to see the matinee showing of Rocketman. They were eleven years old and inseparable. Even then, Willow believed that with Xander and Jesse around, she was complete. Her best friends. Although she knew that it was unusual that she hadn't any girlfriends like Cordelia or Amy had, she didn't care. Jesse and Xander were all she ever needed: they were loyal, caring, fun and since they had met in kindergarten, they were the three musketeers. 

*_Except that I was a girl,_* Willow added ruefully.

But they didn't seem to care. Both of them took care of her, like big brother's would of their sister, showing her with their actions, that they loved her. Something that had always been seriously lacking at her own home.

She shook her head. Adopted. "That explains it," she said outloud. "I was a whim and once they got me—they didn't know what to do with me."

Her finger rubbed the edge of the scar thoughtfully. "No more scars—at least the physical kind."

She slapped her hands on her thighs and stood up. "If Spike can keep it together, then so can I," she said as she reached down and picked up the previously discarded pair of sweat pants. "It's the least I can do for Buffy. He needs someone to take care of him until Mike gets here."

If it were possible, she would have sworn she felt a nod of approval coming from her best friend. "Thanks Buffy, I needed that," Willow whispered into the air.

~~~

Vachon shifted Mike's lifeless body in his arms and sighed. *_What a crazy, fucked up mess,_* he thought to himself, as he flashed upon on the influx of images that were passed to him with the intake of her blood. 

If there had been any other way to guarantee him making it to Sunnydale that evening, he would've avoided drinking from her. Her link with Spike was in full force and for a second, he felt a flash of red hot anger from the other vampire, as if Vachon were encroaching on the blond vampire's property.

Well, in a way he was. 

But as quick as the anger had been present, it dissipated. Vachon heard Mike send a calming message to Spike, explaining why it was necessary. Vachon decided to add his two cents worth and apologized as well. 

The other vampire conceded but Vachon felt his restlessness—his need to claim what was his—despite the emotionally pain he was so obviously suffering.

Or maybe it was because of that same pain. 

Vachon knew what it was like to lose a mortal love. Even though he hadn't been there when Tracy had died, the anger and helplessness was still there. And Vachon had instinctively searched for those who were blood bound to him, to burrow in the safety of the ties that were timeless and for ever.

Unfortunately for him, he had no one left then.

And now he had Mike and all the baggage that came with her.

"Lucky me," he whispered to himself with more than a little sarcasm. He bent his head and gently pressed his lips on Mike's forehead. "Yeah, lucky me."

~~~

It wasn't until Willow had dressed and combed her hair, did she realize she was feeling a strange sort of need and desire—that didn't seem to be a part of her, yet did. Focusing inward and using Wiccan techniques of meditation and self-protection she had learned long ago, she quickly zeroed in on spot inside of her where they were coming from.

She gasped outloud.

It was what she had dubbed seven years ago, as her 'Angel' spot.

Not long after performing the restoration spell on Angel, she began to have nightmares filled with pain and agony, heat and Hell, with Angel in the leading roll.

It was those dreams that prompted her to investigate the possibility he was still alive, so to speak, and in Hell.

She never understood their link; it wasn't as elaborate as Spike's and Mike's; they couldn't read each other's thoughts, feel one another's exact feelings or experience each other's experiences. 

It wasn't even one of a typical vampire and its kept human.

No, Angel's (and Angelus', she added ruefully) and hers connection was one of proximity, subtleties and impressions. Shadowy intentions and obscure thoughts that swirled about her heart, mind and soul—nudging her into just 'knowing' what his plans were—or visa versa. 

And it was all because of the curse. She restored his soul and now, as long as she lived, they were bound in a sick, symbiotic link of want.

"How?" she asked herself as she sank down on the bed. "I thought it was our souls that were linked..." she whispered quietly as she closed her eyes and concentrated on it. 

Anger. Need. Desire. Hatred. Blood. Death. Desire. Lust. Passion.

"Oh Goddess, I'm linked to him too!" 

Horror filled her as he curled up tightly in a ball while her body shuddered in response.

Why Angelus too? 

Gods, she despised Angel's demon half. She hated its viciousness and lust for cruelty and pain. It was almost as if the demon relished in destroying and mocking all the things his souled half held dear to him. 

But it was enticing too, she had to admit. The chance to know your enemy. She uncurled her body and closed her eyes, once again focusing on him—the demon. Maybe this way, she would be able to figure out his next move.

Save her friends.

And keep her head.

~~~

All it took was a glance into his bedroom, and whatever control Spike had over his fragile emotions, was lost.

He slipped into his bedroom, and shut the door behind himself, and fell back against it. Scattered images and memories flooded him, from the first time Mike and he christened their new bed to the night she told him she was leaving him.

And then quickly following those, came all those time with Buffy. 

The Slayer and he made love the first time in this bed as well. 

They fought and screamed in this room, laughed, joked and traded stories about their friends and experiences in this room.

Spike's 'first mini-Quickening' as he dubbed it, was also experienced in here.

He remembered when Buffy performed the uninvite spell, to keep Angel from appearing in his home announced, right on this bed, with him beside her, lighting those horrid herbs.

He slid down the door as a sob wracked his lean frame. 

He knew it was going to hurt—losing her. 

He just had no idea it was going to hurt this badly.

Angrily, he wiped his face and stood up. *_I don't bloody have time for this,_* he thought to himself as he opened the door. *_Later, I'll do this later..._*

He stepped back into the hallway and nearly walked right into Amy.

She held out her hands to catch him, giving him a small smile. "Okay?"

He nodded as he closed his bedroom door. "Can I get you something, pet?"

He was surprised to hear his voice working so well.

Amy's earnest face looked up at him. "How is she?"

He rubbed his tired face and sighed. "Confused—angry. And determined to save Peaches."

Amy nodded, obviously not surprised. "But not until she trains, right? I mean, if Dru's really here, that means that other jerk may be around—"

"Morden?" he asked, not shocked to feel the familiar clenching of his gut everytime he thought of that Immortal pillock.

"Yeah, that's him. Isn't he Immortal?"

Spike nodded. "Richie, Mike and Vachon are on their way down right now. I doubt if she'll get much say-so as to when she confronts Angelus with them around." 

"Hey Spike! Do you have any food around here?" Xander asked, sticking his head into the hallway from the kitchen. 

"Whatcha see is what we got. Buffy hadn't gotten—" he broke off, realizing what he was saying. "Shit!"

Amy squeezed his arm. "I'll take care of it," she said and turned to Xander. "What do you want, Xan?"

"Not for me. It's for Cordy and Willow. I remembered how hungry Mike and Richie were everytime after they revived and Cordy, well..."

Spike found his interest peeked, despite himself. Delia eating at this hour? Never. And suddenly, his mind flashed back to when they were at the Bronze. Her heart beat—her heart beats...

Spike shook his head in wonder. "Son-of-a-bitch—Xander is going to be a papa," he whispered to himself. He didn't even get a chance to feel the wonder, when the enormity of their situation crashed down on top of him. Never before had he felt so alone and so desperate to keep a handful of mortals alive as he did at that moment. For Delia and Xander—Joyce and Giles and Oz and Amy.

He needed them to live.

For his sanity.

For his heart. 

~~~

Trance-like, Willow stared out the window into the darkness, searching for him.

Waiting.

She could feel him getting closer. His glee and elation...

Her mind swirled. Glee? What would he be happy about?

And then it hit her.

He knew.

He knew where they were.

He was coming.

She shot out of bed and ran to the door, yanking it open. Spotting Spike in the hallway, she called for him.

"He's coming! I can feel it. Spike, he knows where we all are! He'll burn us out!"

"Shit! Are you sure, Will?"

She nodded, trying to ignore the rapid beating of her heart. The fear as it seeped into her bones. 

He grabbed her arm and pulled her as he went into the kitchen.

~~~

As they entered the kitchen, he stopped.

There stood all of them. Every mortal he's ever cared for in the 200 years since he's been a vampire.

Every mortal that Angel loved.

"Bloody hell, why didn't I think of that?"

"Think of what?" Joyce asked, looking up from a plate she was filling with a variety of foods. "Willow honey, this is yours," she said as she handed a dazed Willow a plate of food.

Willow took the plate with a blank look on her face. "Th-thanks Joyce. But—not—not now."

"Rupert, there's a weapon's chest in our bedroom. Get it. The fucking pillock plans on burning us out." He dropped Willow's arm as he began to pace. "I don't know why I didn't think of it myself. He knows that I would insist that everyone come here tonight." Spike shook his head, silently berating himself. "Amy, can you teleport Joyce and Delia out of here? Even if it's just next door? The wanker's probably asleep and as deaf as a bloody doornail—"

"I can. One at a time."

"Do it! Start with Delia and Joyce."

Giles returned with the weapon's chest. "I don't know why I didn't think about it myself. It's just the last time, he was so busy reveling in his demon, he didn't bother us for a few days."

Xander grabbed a crossbow and a handful of arrows and stuffed a cross in his jacket. He turned to Cordelia and Amy and leaned over and kissed his wife good-bye. Seconds later she disappeared just as Joyce had done minutes before.

Spike turned to Willow, silently asking her to go.

"No," she said, shaking her head. She walked over and grabbed the other crossbow. "He can sense me. I need to stay here."

Spike nodded and silently urged Mike and Vachon to hurry. 

He didn't want to lose anyone else that night.

~~~

Angelus didn't disappoint them.

Willow was the first to feel them.

She sucked in a deep breath and grabbed her head, moaning. "What the hell?"

Spike leaned over and pulled her hands away from her face. "Willow—it's Morden. You're feeling an Immortal." 

She glanced up, her green shining with tears. "Morden too?"

He nodded and squeezed her hand. "Sorry luv, it's the Hellmouth."

Biting her lip, she nodded. "I'm okay, Spike." She stood up and grabbed the crossbow. "I'm ready."

"Is the spell holding?" Oz asked Amy, watching her close her eyes in concentration.

"Yep. And as long as no one attacks us magically, it should hold."

"Good," Spike said, issuing a silent prayer to the gods for giving this group not just one, but two witches. As long as the protection spell held, there would be no fires in or around his home that night. He turned to Giles. "I'm going upstairs to the attic, and slip out there."

"Sounds good," the watcher said. "Spike," he called out, grabbing the vampire's arm. "Be careful. I'm sure he hates you even more than before."

Spike nodded and took off down the hallway and pulled on the attic door, causing it to come down, complete with steps.

As he climbed the steps, he off handedly noted the dust and realized he hadn't been up here since packing away Mike's things. And that was over six years ago. 

When she had gone to St. Louis, she left boxes filled with books and other knick-knacks that she had inherited from her father. She knew he would take care of them and considering this was her only real home, he didn't mind. 

Shaking his head, he quickly reached the window and with a just a bit of juggling, opened it and pushed himself out and into the air. Floating nearly 50 feet above the ground, he easily spotted the dozen or so demon-vamps that were splashing gasoline onto his house.

Instantly his fangs emerged and he issued a soft growl.

Those bloody pillock's. Burning down my home.

Then he saw Angelus, standing off to the side, with an evil grin on his face. 

Spike quickly listened for a heartbeat and turned in the air in time to see Morden picking up a rock and aiming it for that blasted picture window.

Without thought, he swooped down and scooped the rock out the air before it could hit the window and threw it at the Immortal with vampiric strength.

The Immortal died instantly.

"Enough of this shit," he thought to himself as he flew over to Angelus.

It wasn't until he was nearly on top of his sire, did the demon-vamp look up instead of around. By that time, Spike was standing in front of him.

"What the bloody hell do you want, prick?" he asked calmly, as he lit a cigarette.

If Spike hadn't known Angelus so well, he wouldn't have caught the flash of surprise in his eyes. Taking a bit of comfort from that, he began circling the demon-vamp.

"I mean—you're back. You don't have your soul and you know you can't be cursed again, so what the hell do you want?" He stopped standing directly in front of him.

Angelus tipped his head, grinning at Spike. "Spike, my boy, how the hell are you?" He slapped the vampire on the back in a mock greeting. "Oh wait, Buff died tonight. I'm sorry." He said with fake sympathy. 

Spike said nothing, smoking silently, with his human face still intact.

"Ah come on, my childe, don't you have anything to say to your papa?"

Rage filled him. Careful to keep his face neutral, he tossed his cigarette aside and moved in even closer to Angelus. "I am not your childe, Angelus. Not anymore."

Angelus smiled as he lifted his hand and gently touched cupped Spike's face. "No, I guess you aren't. are you?" His grip tightened. "You're that Immortal whore's childe. But don't forget your first sire, my boy. I made you and I can destroy you."

Willing his eyes back to normal, Spike shook his head, yanking it out the other vampire's grasp. "Maybe, maybe not." He stepped back and shrugged, noting movement to his left. "Druscilla, is that you trying to sneak up on me?"

The dark-haired vampiress stepped out of the shadows. "Hello, my Spike. Miss Edith tells me you are sad tonight. Are you sad?" she asked, touching his cheek.

Rolling his eyes, he shrugged her hand off. "I don't know why the bloody hell Miss Edith give's a rat's ass about my emotional state. Do you, Dru?"

"He's angry, my Angel. Are you sure we can't get my Spike back? Like I got my daddy back?"

Angelus wrapped his arm around Dru all the while his eyes still glued to Spike's. "I don't think so, Dru—"

"Master!" a vampire called out, running over to the three. "The fire won't catch."

Spike chuckled softly. "Another time, maybe? When you think about your plan of attack better."

Angelus growled softly, and turned to Spike, his demonic features flashing in the moonlight. "My childe, I want Willow. Tell her, one way or another, we'll be back for her head."

Spike shook his head in disgust. "Like a bloody broken record. Different words, same damn tune. Why the hell are you so afraid of her, Angelus? They're all over the place. Who's to say you aren't going to play with another Immortal and become hooked on them? Might as well get down with the one you know."

Before Spike could react, Angelus was in his face. "Let's get one thing straight, okay? In no way shape or form is that damn soul coming back to this body. It's mine. Not his. He gave up rights to it over 250 years ago and it's about time someone somewhere realizes it!" He started to turn away, but stopped and swung back around with his fist. 

Spike stumbled backwards, reeling from the contact. Wiping the blood off his mouth, he grinned back at Angelus. "Let me tell you something, dear ole daddy. Show your face here again and Willow be damned, you'll fit in my dustbuster before you can say, 'hello.'" He turned to Druscilla. "And the same goes for you, pet—nothing's changed in the past seven years. If you value your unlife, leave." He was about to leave when he felt a familiar heartbeat. "Oh and tell Morden, if this is another rouse to get to Mike, he can kiss his head good-bye. Rumor has it, she's a bit more adept at the sword since the last time he faced her." 

Shaking his head in disgust. "I've had enough of the lot of you. Get the fuck out of here," he said, rising into the air. He quickly flew to the top of his house, and stood there, watching as Dru ran over to Morden and helped him up, all the while cooing insanely in his ear. For just a moment, he actually felt a pang of sympathy for the Immortal, but quickly shrugged it off. "Better him than me," he muttered to himself as he watched the impromptu attack force disappear into the shadows. Minutes later, he no longer felt any of their presence.

Mission accomplished.

But he couldn't help but wonder what the hell it was all about. It wasn't like Angelus to give up so easily.

Shrugging his shoulders, he slipped inside the attic window and returned to his friends.

~~~~~~~~~~

to be continued in Chapter Five - Even Sad Reunions Can Be Good


	5. Default Chapter Title

## A Serendipitous Beginning

#### by  
Lisa Y. Drexel  
Chapter Five

~~~~~  
Even sad reunions can be good  
~~~~~

* * *

"Querida, we're almost there," Vachon whispered in her ear, waking Mike from her restless slumber.

He felt her bury her face even deeper into his neck and shudder. "Jav, do we have enough time to stop somewhere? So I can get my bearings?"

"Yeah, Mike. We've got an hour until sunrise."

"Thanks."

"Anywhere in particular?"

She shook her head. "Just some place where everyone isn't." She pulled back and glanced at 

him, squinting through the darkness. "How much farther? So I can tell Spike."

"About ten miles out of Sunnydale."

She nodded and closed her eyes. As the minutes ticked away, Vachon could literally feel her 

mood change from apprehensive to fearful. He just tightened his hold on her, silently 

wishing there was something he could do to lighten her load, but knowing this was 

something she had to work through herself.

Links and love was a pretty heady combination to begin with, much less the strength of the 

one Spike and Mike shared. To feel each others emotions as well as hear their thoughts meant 

that there wasn't much privacy in either of their minds. That was why both of them had 

decided to damper it as much as possible six years before. But much to their dismay, the link 

was much more resilient than either of their emotions. It prevailed-despite the lack of 

telepathic and empathetic communication. It influenced one another feelings and in turn, 

actions, without either of them being aware of it at the time. Even with LaCroix's lessons as 

well Cassandra's teachings, neither of them could shield themselves or each other from 

themselves.

As Spike would say, 'It was a bloody mess.'

And it was.

Unfortunately, it took both of them to make the 'damper' work and as they found out when 

Mike took her first head and experienced her first Quickening, there were times when it was 

impossible to do. Which is why even now, when the last thing Spike would want to share 

with Mike-his pain over losing Buffy-was impossible to stop. He simply did not have the 

mental energy to continue the dampening. And, Vachon suspected, he was unconsciously 

seeking her out-to share that pain with her-needing her stability and her love to keep him 

balanced.

That was how links worked.

He silently sighed as the outskirts Sunnydale appeared below him. Spotting a warehouse, he 

began his descent, all the while wondering why Mike wanted to stop. If he had been in her 

shoes, he would've wanted this reunion to get over and done with. Prolonging her 

unfounded insecurities was going to do nothing but make her more nervous and skittish.

She had to know how Spike felt.

Hell, he knew, and it wasn't linked to the other vampire. All he did was drink from Mike and 

he felt Spike's protectiveness and love.

"Women," he muttered quietly as his feet touched the roof. After extending his senses for any 

life-undead or otherwise and found nothing, he shook her again. "Mike."

He slowly released her legs while keeping a hold of her until she got her legs back. He 

expected her to pull back, but she didn't. Instead she pulled him tightly against her, all the 

while clutching at him.

"Querida, what's going on?"

She sniffled as she dropped her arms and stepped back. After she wrapped her arms 

protectively around her stomach, she looked up at him and gave him an embarrassed smile.

"I'm scared," she whispered as she turned around and stared off into the dark sky.

"Of what?"

"Him."

"Spike?"

She turned back to face, shutting her eyes, but failing to stop the tears that escaped. She 

wiped at them angrily and groaned.

"Tell me."

She took a deep breath and sighed. "What if he doesn't love me anymore? Like *that*?"

Vachon stopped himself from rolling his eyes and instead just shook his head. "Believe me, 

Mike, he still loves you. He may not drag you into his bed tonight-but that doesn't mean that 

there isn't a large part of him that won't be tempted to."

"Really? How do you know?"

He grinned and shrugged. "Trade secret."

She frowned at him as she began playing with her long braid, twirling the loose hairs at its 

end. She opened her mouth to say something, but stopped and clamped it shut.

"What?"

"It's silly."

"I doubt that."

She dropped her braid and reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a cigarette and 

lighter. After taking a drag off the cigarette, she turned to face him. "It's silly, Vachon. I'm a 

shrink. I know silly when I see it. I even know why I'm feeling all these 'things', these 

insecurities, and yet my heart isn't listening to my brain. My heart's too worried about being 

40 years old and feeling that I'm a fool to believe that he would want me, an old woman in 

comparison to Buffy, back. Like how can I compete with her? Dead or alive?" She shook her 

head ruefully as she flicked her half-smoked cigarette away. "And I feel petty and awful for 

thinking all these things. It's just that I left my heart-my soul with him-when I left him and I 

don't think I'll ever be *right* without him."

She groaned loudly shaking her head, ignoring the newest stream of tears that flowed down 

her face. "We better go. You need to get you inside."

She picked up her backpack and slipped her arms through the straps.

Vachon watched her silently as he thought of what she said. He never believed she was petty 

or cruel. He always believed that her leaving Spike was one of the most bravest things he'd 

seen anyone ever do. He knew he wouldn't ever be able to leave her totally. Granted he lost 

his lover that night, but he still had her friendship and love. He knew from the beginning that 

this day would come. When Spike would need her and she would go to him.

He knew it before he even took her to his bed.

And yet, he couldn't regret the last six years. This beautiful woman, somehow filled that 

aching hole in his own heart left by Urs and Tracy's deaths. As his constant companion for the 

last six years, she helped him find himself and he knew, if he had to, he could leave her now 

and not lose that sense of self that he worked so hard to rebuild.

But he also knew he wouldn't.

Because, he still had her-just not as a lover.

And that was okay, because long ago, he had decided that first and foremost, he would teach 

her and guide her like he would his own children and he could live with being her 'sire' or 

father, far better than not having her in his life at all.

*Now, as long as Spike can deal with it, we'll be okay,* he thought to himself as he stepped 

up to her and caressed her cheek. "You are not an old woman, Mike. You are an Immortal. 

You died when you were thirty not eighty. And I don't care what you think, you still look as 

if you're in you're maybe 25 years old. How much you want to bet, those kids that we met 

seven years ago are going to look as old as you. And I hate to tell you, but you're in much 

better shape than you were in when I met you. And even then, you still took my breath 

away."

She blushed, looking downwards as she shuffled her feet. "Then why do I feel like an 

awkward teenager getting ready to go on her first date?"

He cupped her chin, forcing her to look at him. "Because, nina, you're finally seeing Spike 

after six years of loneliness."

She opened her mouth to protest, but he shook his head, pressing a finger on her lips. "Shhh, 

listen to me. It's true, Querida, your heart is his-just as his is yours. Buffy and I were only 

borrowing them for awhile. We both knew we'd have to return them. I'm just sorry for you, 

that it had to be her death that forced all of us to realize it."

Her eyes flooded with tears as she nodded in agreement. "So do I. I really liked Buffy. Even 

loved her as a friend and admired her strength and courage. I feel like I'm some fucking 

scavenger, scoping out the remains. And yet, I can't stop myself from wanting him."

"You're no scavenger-you Mike-Spike's soul. Remember that, Querida, and don't be ashamed 

of your love for him. It's too beautiful of a thing to push back."

She nodded as she gave him a small grin. "I don't know what I did to deserve you, but I'm so 

glad that you're here. Thank you," she whispered as she pulled him into her arms and 

hugged him tightly.

He hugged her back, and then scooped her up into his arms, preparing to leave. "Ready?"

She nodded.

"Hang on."

And they ascended into the air, heading to Mike's house-where Buffy and Spike had been 

calling home for nearly five years.

***

It had been that last and final mental check-in from Mike that did Spike in.

Before that, he had managed to delegate all thoughts of Mike to the 'I-can't-deal- with-this-

now' spot in his mind-where, as the night wore on, he found, was growing exponentially. A 

part of him wondered just how much more unpleasant feelings he could stuff in there before 

he exploded and became a wild vampire-just waiting to be staked.

He shook his head and pushed that thought into the same bin with Buffy and Mike.

It had been nearly two hours since Angelus and company's visit and everyone had settled in 

for the rest of the night-waiting for dawn to come.

Luckily for them, it was late in the spring and after Day-Light Savings Time, so, even though 

no one would be heading for bed until way past six am, even after six hours of sleep, they 

would have enough time to get the things done they needed to before nightfall.

And it was a lot of things.

Amy, Giles and Willow (along with Richie and/or Mike) had to go to each of their houses 

and not only revoke Angel's invitation but cast the same type of protection spell against fire 

they had on his home.

That alone would probably physically drain the three magic practitioners.

They had to contact Faith and her watcher and ask if the slayer could return to the 

Hellmouth.

Giles had to call the Council to inform them of Buffy's death and to search for the next slayer.

Joyce had to go down to the morgue and identify her daughter, call Hank Summers and 

begin funeral preparations.

It just went on and on.

And then there was Angelus.

Spike knew he hadn't given up. If the last time wasn't enough to show him that Angelus' 

demon was just a bit nuts, tonight was. The demon-vamp wasn't going to give up until either 

Willow was really dead or his demon was banished forever by the same change Spike went 

through seven years before.

It was just that simple.

That, added with Dru and Morden's reappearance, made everyone just a little nervous. Was 

there a prophecy that they missed? Any portends they ignored? Or was this just one of those 

random Hellmouthy things that popped up periodically in Sunnyhell?

All this just pointed to research.

Tuning out Giles, Joyce and Xander, he began looking around the room - anything to take his 

mind off of Mike and Buffy. He noticed that Delia was still asleep, curled up in her husband's 

lap, not unlike a small child would instead of a mother-to-be.

Oz was sitting on the floor, next to Xander's chair, strumming on Spike's guitar. He appeared 

to be picking out a new song-its tune as melancholy as everyone's mood.

Amy and Willow were sitting over in the corner. Periodically, Spike would hear one or the 

other cry as they talked of the evening events and the future plans that were no longer 

possible.

And of course, there was Xander, Giles, Joyce and him-they had spent most of the night 

making the lists that everyone would follow the next morning.

Spike sighed, inwardly wondering when that human characteristic had become a normal 

habit for him. *Probably came with the bloody soul,* he thought to himself as he turned his 

head to glance down the hallway, his eyes instantly pinpointing his closed bedroom door.

Could he go in there in the morning and sleep, even though the bed would be cold and 

lonely? And that the only company he would have would be the ghostly memories of Buffy?

Could he?

Suddenly feeling anxious, he stood up and lit a cigarette. Glancing at Delia, he mumbled 

something about checking the outside and slipped out the front door.

The cool spring air welcomed him and he found himself smiling as a hundred- year-old 

memory of Druscilla popped up.

She loved nights like these. After they would finish hunting, she would drag him up to this 

hilltop where she would twirl about-her arms up, soaking in the moon's essence.

It was moments like those that had bewitched him to her.

As a human, he'd never been in love. He'd seen it as a weakness. All he had to do was pull 

up an image of his mother-a beautiful, innocent and trusting commoner who had the 

misfortune of giving her heart to a nobleman-who ended up devastated and penniless 

because of that love.

The irony of it was Spike was the spitting image of Sir William Atkinson-his father. From the 

prominent cheekbones to the sable brown hair and dark brown eyes.

Yet, his mother and him were forced to leave her village and family and ended up in a 

tenement in London.

She tried to find legitimate work, but scandal seemed to follow her wherever she went. 

Finally she was forced into prostitution out of necessity and after that, little William's life was 

forever changed.

From an innocent loving boy, he grew into an angry, tough, sociopath with enough 

intelligence to keep him one step in front of the law. He earned the title of William the 

Bloody long before he had become a vampire.

And once Angelus brought him across, he found his demon was one who had lived off 

extremes-hate, sex, blood, anger, and finally, once Druscilla entered their lives, love.

Once he had Druscilla, the bloodlust became focused-less erratic, more precise.

He found purpose-to keep her safe.

And for nearly 90 years, it was enough.

Sometimes he wondered what would've happened next, if Angelus hadn't returned and 

Spike never had to make the choices he made: Angelus or the world; Angelus or Buffy and 

Druscilla.

Would've he progressed on his own to the point he was seven years before when he had met 

Mike? Or was Spike's present life just random effects of strange causes?

He tossed his cigarette aside, disgusted with his brooding and flew up onto the roof of his 

house. From there, he extended his senses, quickly pinpointing the three minions that 

Angelus and Dru had left to watch the house.

One was in a car, parked three houses down on his street. Another was in the old coot's 

backyard, most likely trampling the human's prized begonias and the last one was standing 

on the other side of Spike's back fence.

Gods, he missed Angel and Buffy. Not only did he lose his sire and friend and lover, but he 

lost the other members of the slaying team. It was them, Angel, Buffy and Spike, that did 

most of the slaying. With them, they could've easily dispatched the three fledglings. But 

alone, even though Spike was a Souled-One, it would be more than difficult.

Maybe he should just wait for Mike and Vachon. Mike could get the one in the car and 

Vachon and Spike could flip for the other two.

Feeling a bit better, he flew back down to the door and slipped back inside.

As he flopped into his waiting chair, Xander cleared his throat.

"What's it like out there?"

Spike told them.

"Do you think we should dust them?"

Oz stopped strumming.

"Nah, mate. I'll wait for Mike and Vachon. Everyone here is beat."

The strumming continued.

"Spike, if I may ask, is-is the link active?" Giles asked him.

Spike nodded and closed his eyes as he made a tentative mental touch. "She's asleep right 

now."

"Asleep?" Xander's voice cracked. "How the hell could she sleep while flying like that?"

"Cool," Oz interjected. "That means she feels safe. This Vachon guy, what's he like?"

Spike grinned as he turned to Oz, mentally noting the green hair. "A musician- like you. Been 

in a few bands. Though, I'm not sure he has in the past eight or ten years. He's laid back, but 

when something means a lot to him, he's intense, loyal. Not a bull-shitter. I think you'd like 

him."

Oz nodded. "Yeah, I'm kinda sorry I missed out on all that fun that summer. I would've loved 

to've met him then. A whole different view on the supernatural and being in a band thing."

Spike shook his head, chuckling softly. Oz was one of the most unique beings he had ever 

met-

*Spike?*

Spike's eyes instantly shut as he mentally greeted her. *Hey, luv. Where are you?*

*About ten miles away. We should be there in a few...*

*Okay, I'll let the others know...*

An uncomfortable silence.

*Okay, see ya.*

*Until then, luv.*

And then it hit him.

Mike was coming.

After six long years, he was finally going to see her again and for the life of him, he had no 

idea what or how to feel.

Growling softly, he stood up and headed down the hallway. He stopped and turned. "Giles, 

they're about ten miles out of Sunnydale."

The watcher nodded and Spike turned back and pulled the attic steps down. And for the 

second time that evening, he went up there-this time to welcome his guests.

***

Spike met them on the roof.

Standing there, looking as beautiful as he did the day she met him, clad in a pair of old blue 

jeans and a worn, black tee-shirt with a his duster billowing out behind him, Mike felt her 

heart lurch upwards-somewhere close to her throat.

Gods, he was magnificent.

Untangling herself from Vachon's arms, she turned to him and suddenly stopped-afraid.

"Will?" she whispered, asking so many things with that one word. Can I hug you? How are 

you? Do you love me? Are you going to be okay?

Although his face was expressionless, his emotions and thoughts were anything but that. 

Awe, excitement, pain, sorrow, anger-all plundered her heart as a running dialogue filled her 

mind, *Cor, she's beautiful-I've missed her so much-more beautiful than I remembered...*

And then an overwhelming sense of completeness seemed to fill them both.

*I'm home*

*I'm home*

Mike broke her self-paralysis and ran up to him, flinging herself at him- instinctively 

knowing he would catch her-that he always would catch her-as his arms did catch her. As he 

had done so many times before in those mere nine months they'd spent together that changed 

both their lives irrevocably.

*Ah luv, I missed you. I missed this.*

*I did too. I missed you so much I thought I'd die...*

*I love you.*

*And gods, I love you.*

***

Spike rained kisses on her face, poignantly aware that her tears were for him and his loss. He 

gently pushed her head to the side, his fangs aching to just taste her-to be with her. Her 

beautiful, pale long neck called to him as her essence teased an ache hadn't even realized he 

had. As he kissed her pulse point, he felt her body shudder in response as a wave of sexual 

arousal hit him, reminding him of almonds and coconuts and wild, spring flowers.

As his fangs broke her skin, slicing into the cateroid artery and her blood filled his mouth, a 

thousand thoughts, feelings and visions filled him. Her bottled blood held none of the magic 

that this did. Her heard a load moan and vaguely realized it was him as he felt her body buck 

against him. Retracting his fangs, he lazily licked the blood around the wound as he held her 

tightly to him.

Home.

He was finally home.

And then, a picture of Buffy flashed through his mind and whatever peace he had found in 

Mike's arms and in her blood, disappeared.

"Bloody hell," he muttered, stepping back, as he watched her eyes focus on him, without 

condemnation or recriminations.

"It's okay. I understand." She reached up and traced his scar. "I know how you feel. How can I 

not? It's going to take time. I'll be here when you're ready." She tiptoed and kissed him 

chastely on the lips and pulled away. "Now, don't you have some demon-vamps you want to 

get rid of?"

He yanked her back into his arms, and hugged her tightly to him and glanced over at 

Vachon, who stood and watched their reunion. Thank you, he mouthed to the Spaniard, 

knowing that the other vampire was responsible in no small way for Mike still being alive. 

"And thank you, luv," he whispered in her ear.

He felt her chuckle in his arms and for the first time since the events at the Bronze earlier that 

night, he knew he might actually survive the next few days-

Because he was no longer alone.


	6. Default Chapter Title

## A Serendipitous Beginning

#### by  
Lisa Y. Drexel  
Chapter Six

~~~~~~~  


Old friends…New Problems

~~~~~~

* * *

It had been nearly six years since Xander had last seen Mike Evans.

She looked the same.

Even her hair was the same length.

It was one thing knowing about Immortals and a whole other thing seeing it with his own eyes. 

Sure, Angel and Spike—even Vachon—didn't age—but they were vampires and vampires were immortal. Even before he knew that such beings were actually real, he knew that. But there were no tales told to children at bedtime about an Immortal race of beings that looked exactly like you—got hurt like you—ate the same foods as you—but never aged and rarely died.

It was unnerving and almost chilling in a whole different way than dealing with vampires were. 

He switched his attention to Spike and found himself letting out a sigh of relief.

The change was remarkable.

Ever since Xander had seen the vampire curled up on the floor, desolate and broken, an unwarranted fear had slowly been trying to grown within his heart. He could remember with absolute clarity the horrors the vampire had inflicted on him and his friends before Angelus had returned, and even with the knowledge that Spike's soul was still there—he couldn't help but wonder what would happen if the vampire lost himself in a blood haze of pain.

He actually didn't have to wonder. He could almost see it. And without Buffy, he had no doubt Spike could kill every last person in the room—except maybe Willow and not even realize what he was doing until all of their bodies were cooling—empty of blood.

Ignoring the shudder that the image produced, he had to say Mike's presence was definitely welcomed. The vampire's grief was still apparent—the light that had been in his eyes at the Bronze, was still somewhat dimmed—but at least it had returned. Also, his shoulders were straighter, as if the burden of Buffy's death and of Angelus' return was no longer in danger of breaking him. 

Yes, Mike was a good thing.

Although he had talked in length with Buffy about Spike and Mike, he still didn't quite understand what was so powerful about bloodlinks and bonds. His friend didn't seem too worried about Mike, knowing that the Immortal woman would physically keep her distance, while Spike and her were together. When Xander asked her how she knew that, she smiled while squeezing his shoulder.

"Because I can feel it," she said. "Every time Spike drinks from me, I can feel Mike. I can feel her love for him, her caring for me and I know that she wouldn't ever allow herself to come in between us. She firmly believes that since her and Spike have an eternity, that I should have him for now."

Xander felt his eyes water and those tears of grief that he had been holding back, threatening to overpower him. He already missed Buffy so much, he wondered if life would ever be the same. She was his first lust, love and the first person he had saved from death. Her ability to bring light and laughter into all the dark corners of her existence had more than once, given Xander the strength to survive and become someone when nothing else had.

He bit his bottom lip to stop the tears and silently promised himself a good cry when he and Cordellia were alone. This was not the time or place to break down—knowing that if he did, everyone else would follow.

And no one needed to collapse when they had so much to do.

Xander looked back up to see Mike squeeze Vachon's hand and step into the living room—heading straight for Joyce.

~~~

It was like stepping into a time warp—seeing all those people that had been so important in her life all those years ago. As her eyes traveled around the room, she found herself agreeing with Vachon. He was right—everyone with the exception of Giles and Joyce, now looked the same age as her. 

Willow, her red hair now much longer with beautiful waves that curled around her face, had grown into a lovely, breathtaking woman.

Although she had only met Amy a couple of times during her stay in Sunnydale, she too looked as if the years had been kind to her.

Cordellia, wrapped in Xander's arms on his lap, was sleeping the sleep of innocents. It seemed pretty apropos now—although six years ago she would've disagreed. 

Xander, his hair cut styled and neat—along with the rest of his attire—seemed to reflect Cordelia's tastes more than his. But the change looked good on him. He looked every much the writer he was.

Oz, with green hair and two earrings, was the only one on the outside that hadn't appeared to change—but she knew better. The werewolf was no longer a musician that played when his schedule with school permitted. He was now a successful recording artist, with Devon, still playing the lead singer. 

And then there was Giles and Joyce.

She felt her breath catch as she noticed how the sorrow had taken a hold of the Watcher. He was so much more than Buffy's watcher. He was her friend, comrade in arms and surrogate father all rolled into one. The lines in his face were more pronounced—his shoulders were slumped and his eyes were filled with such sadness that Mike felt her eyes water in empathy.

He lost his purpose.

And probably the only thing that was keeping him together was his love for his wife and the other 'children' he had adopted so long ago.

But Joyce surprised her.

Mike had heard how she had reacted to Buffy's revelation that she was the Slayer. Of all of her attempts during the Slayer's senior year in high school of normalizing her daughter. She had stopped by the time Mike had left, and when she discovered that Spike and her daughter were in love, she finally accepted it—her daughter was the Slayer.

But now, Joyce stood tall next to her husband. Mike could see the pain in the woman's eyes, but the strength she radiated was mind-boggling. This was a woman who once she accepted her daughter's fate—she accepted it all—even Buffy's death.

All this time Mike had believed Buffy's success as the slayer had to do with her friends and their support.

Now, she may have to change that assessment.

She could finally see what Spike saw in Joyce Summers all those years before—a fiercely strong woman who could not only love with all her heart but also withstand the pain of life's heartbreaks. 

Mike couldn't help thinking of how proud Buffy would be of her mother, if she could see her now. 

It was Joyce that Mike first approached. After wiping her wet face, Mike walked over to the woman and took her hands in both of hers and looked up at her, suddenly unsure of what to say or how to say it. Somehow I'm sorry was so inadequate, but yet appropriate. That plus, she worried that Joyce would think that Mike was insincere in her feelings; Buffy's death did mean Mike and Spike would get back together. Would she believe Mike when she said that she was sorry?

Mike sighed and squeezed Joyce's hand. "All of a sudden, I don't know what to say." She stopped and pulled her hands away as she closed her eyes, remembering the rush of thoughts and feelings when she experienced her mini-Quickening in the bathroom. That was Buffy—coming back to her. "I really cared about her—loved her even." Mike grinned to herself as she looked over at Joyce. "She taught me so much in that six months that I was here. How to fight and stay alive. How to be tough and how to love at the same time." Mike could see Joyce's eyes fill with tears and took her hand and held it. "She taught me how to accept your fate, even when you think the Fates were really off their game in choosing you. I was so young back then. Barely Immortal for two years and for most of that time, everyone else was making decisions about my future. I don't know if I'd ever had the courage to become my own person if I hadn't known her.

"At eighteen, she knew that life was sacred—love was precious and well worth fighting for. She had more courage than 20 of me and she was almost half my age. Pretty humbling experience." 

Joyce nodded, smiling through her tears. 

"And she'll be missed," Mike added softly.

Joyce broke down as she pulled the Immortal into her arms for a quick hug. "Yes she will, but with all of us to remember her, she always be here," she said as she pulled away and touched her heart.

Mike couldn't help but agree, because wasn't that where her father was—still to that day—in her heart?

The ice broke, Mike was quickly engulfed in a huge hug by Xander, soon followed by the rest of the Scooby Gang—tears running rampant as everyone felt a bit of the heaviness of the night dissipate.

Mike had never felt as grateful to the slayer's mother as she had at the moment—she broke the ice and gave Mike her blessings.

The Immortal couldn't ask for anything less.

~~~

As Spike watched Mike approach Joyce, he felt his control slip as it sunk in how much she had changed in the years they were apart. Although the differences were slight: the tightening of her buttock's, how she held her head up higher now, the wariness in her eyes—the muscles in her legs that rippled when used—all of it was a testament to not only how much time had passed, but of how much he missed as well.

And still, things hadn't changed that much. He could still feel the pull of her soul as it called to him—even now, when his own pain was nearly overwhelming.

_What the bloody hell is wrong with me?_ he asked himself as he turned to Vachon, catching the other vampire as he too watched Mike.

It wasn't until he felt his fangs cutting into his lip, did he consciously realize how jealous he felt. The Spanaird had six years with Mike—five years and three months more than Spike. Vachon knew Mike's body better than Spike. Understood all those idiosyncracies she had that Spike had forgotten about, during his time with Buffy.

Growling softly, he grabbed the other vampires arm. "We need to talk," Spike whispered so softly that only another vampire could hear him.

Vachon nodded knowingly. "I need to feed. You have something that I can bring it back with us?"

Spike nodded, unable to hide the small smile that curled his lips. Vachon continually amazed him. Did anything ever faze the other vampire? Here Spike was ready to tear his lungs out seconds before and Vachon just shrugged and offered to get him a drink.

Leaning against the hallway wall, his eyes shut and head back, Spike wondered when he would ever feel in control again. Just when he had a handle on things, Mike shows up and everything was eskewed again. How could he help Willow or Angel if he couldn't keep his fangs or hormones in check? So many feelings were swirling through him, he didn't have the energy to sort through them. Why couldn't they just come one at time? Why couldn't he mourn for Buffy for a just a bit with some peace—and then he could reclaim Mike as his and this time never let her go, Methos be damned. They could share her, as far as he was concerned. He did it with Dru and Angelus for years. He could do it again if necessary.

He was never, ever going to let her go again. 

Feeling the other vampire's presence, he opened his eyes and pushed off the wall, and headed to the back bedroom—the same one that Willow revived in. The smell of the young Immortal's blood filled his senses and he shook his head and ushered the other vampire out and over to the back bedroom.

"Too distracting, mate. I'll see if Mike can clean it up later," he said as he pulled out a cigarette and lit it. Sitting on the bed, he watched Vachon pour two glasses of bloodwine and took the one he handed him. "I'm fucking losing my mind, mate and I have no idea what to do," he whispered through his fangs—the call of the blood was stronger than anything that he had felt since Mike left him six years before. 

"It's the link, Spike. Mike feels it too."

Spike nodded, finishing his drink and carefully placing it on top of the night stand. "And the reason a part of me wants to ring your bloody neck—is that part of the bloody link too?"

The dark-haired vampire nodded yes. "You want to reassert your position and your importance in her life. I was the one that filled that spot—so of course there's a part of you that wants to destroy me."

Spike chuckled humorlessly. "Said so calmly. So tell me, mate, why aren't you worried?"

Vachon shrugged. "Well, I am—a little bit. But I know something that you don't."

"And that is?"

"That I'm not in love with her. And that my relationship with Mike is far more akin to a childe-sire one than the lovers that you two have." Vachon sighed and walked over to the wooden chair sitting next to the wall by the door. He picked it up with one hand and walked over to the bed, placing it so the back faced Spike and sat down, leaning forward on it. "You know, I do know about some of what happened to you that brought to you to St. Louis and into Mike's life. What if I told you that you weren't the only that pretty much lost everything and found hope in her eyes? She gave me that, Spike. She let me take care of her, train her, watch over her—things that I needed to do to heal myself. And all she asked for in exchange was after that first Quickening that I help her find herself. 

"Man, it was bad. You know that. Although, it was worse for her because you'd moved on. Don't get me wrong—she wanted you to go to Buffy and be with her, but that didn't mean that it didn't tear her apart. She experienced through the link and the Quickening—everything that happened between you two in Sunnydale. Every look, every sigh, every touch—every declaration of love. I know, because the only way she could anchor herself was for me to drain her to the death—so, when she revived, the intensity of your connection was diminished. So, I got those memories too," Vachon finished, looking up from his nearly empty wineglass to meet Spike's eyes. "Don't get me wrong, I didn't sleep with and make love to her for completely altruistic purposes. I, too, missed and needed what she could give me. The only woman I ever truly loved was mortal and died about nine years ago—before I could ever tell her.

"Mike reminds me of her. Her heat, her sense of humor and practicality reminds me of Tracy. Mike also reminds me of my childe, Urs, who died about the same time that Tracy did. Urs hated being a vampire. Urs hated being alive—be it as a mortal or as an immortal. The one thing that kept her from killing herself was she loved being depressed even more than she hated being alive. Mike has some of those tendencies. When she gets depressed, she likes it a bit too much. So, through Mike, I felt like I could make it up to both of them."

He reached for the wine bottle and filled both their glasses. After placing the bottle back down on the floor, he looked back up at Spike.

Spike met his eyes and knew the other vampire was telling the truth. To be honest, he didn't need to look into Vachon's eyes to know that. He trusted him—despite his sudden desire to rip his head off and throw it across the room. Shaking his head, he broke eye contact and stared down at the carpet.

"What about this link? What the hell is going on?"

"I'm not sure what it's like for demon-vamps, but for us—when something emotionally traumatizing happens, we are always drawn to those who share our blood, because they can feel our pain and know our heart. It helps us heal and stay strong. Although she didn't initially bring you across, her blood transformed you. And because of that transformation, she the closest thing to a sire you'll ever have—from now on." Vachon finished his second glass of bloodwine and stood up. "Don't fight the link, Spike. It's probably the only thing that's keeping you sane right now. I wasn't connected to Buffy like you and even Mike was, but I have to believe that she knew and accepted Mike's role in your life. I don't think she would condemn you for turning to the one person who not only understands your pain, but can help heal it as well. Not if she loved you."

Vachon turned back to the door and slipped outside, leaving Spike to his thoughts.

~~~

"So, when's Richie coming?" Xander asked once everyone had settled back down in his or her seats. Mike had sat down on the floor, in front of the coffee table and had a glass of half-drunk orange juice in front of her. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Spike grab Vachon's arm and felt a rush of anger and posssessiveness fill her her mind. She shut her eyes and inwardly sighed at Spike's jealously over her relationship with Vachon.

She just hoped Vachon could calm him enough that the dark-haired vampire could explain the intricacies of bloodlinks and why Spike was feeling so torn at the moment. Although she could tell him what she knew, there were some things that her lover needed to hear from Vachon that couldn't come from her. 

Spike needed to understand her and Vachon's convoluted relationship before someone ended up with a stake in their heart. She shook her head, once again wondering how her life could get anymore complicated and turned her attention back to Xander and Cordelia and gave the couple a small smile. "He took the first flight out. I'm not even sure what flight it was, but I know it was the red-eye. I'd say dawn—the latest about 8am."

Xander nodded as he rubbed Cordelia's back soothingly. She watched the prom queen's eyes shut—exhaustion evident in her drawn, pale face.

Mike frowned, thinking that everyone needed to get some shut eye and decided they needed to figure out sleeping arrangement and soon, before everyone fell asleep where they were.

Deciding to give the two vampires a few more minutes of privacy, she allowed herself to get lulled by the easy, lighthearted discussion taking place in the living room.

"We were going to wait and but, what the hell," Xander said, with a small smile on his lips. "We got an unexpected present this year for our anniversary—Cordy's pregant."

"Pregnant, man? That's wonderful," Oz said, as squeezed the former Prom Queen's arm in affection. "How far along?"

Cordy yawned. "Six weeks," she whispered. "Willow and Amy say it's a girl."

"You told them already?" 

Cordelia nodded, smirking at her husband. "They've known all night. I told them at the Bronze—when we all went to the bathroom. Remember, honey?"

Xander's eyes widened as it sunk in. "So, Bu—Buffy knew?" He didn't seem to notice the stream of tears that were running down his face.

She cupped is face and smiled gently at him. "Yes, she did. She cried and gave me a huge hug and congratulated us."

"She did?"

Mike felt her own eyes water as she felt a flash of elation run through her. **_damnrightIcongratulatedthem!_** a whisper of Buffy's voice floated through her heart. She looked up in time to see Xander finally breaking down and crying as Cordelia held his head to her chest. 

Her eyes scanned the room and realized that everyone seemed to be affected by the news. _Exhaustion does wonders for everyone's emotional control,_ she thought to herself. Sighing, she took a deep breath and closed her eyes, and mentally called out to Spike.

_Spike?_

_Hmmm?_

_It's getting kind of hairy out here. Did you know that Cordy's pregnant?_

_I figured it out earlier this evening. Luv. Pretty wonderful, eh?_

_Yeah, it's pretty amazing._ She paused, wiping her own wet face and then continued. _Well, she's pretty exhausted—how 'bout letting her and Xander take your bed? You can take one of the spares..._

_No--_

_Spike?_

_She and Xander can have the back bedroom. Joyce and Giles can take the other one. We can ask Amy if she can 'zap' a couple of extra cots for Willow, and Richie when he gets here. There's already a room set up in the basement that's for Vachon—_

_What about--_

_You, luv?_

_Yeah—can I sleep on the floor in the bedroom?_

She felt his mirth. _No love, you're sleeping with me in our bed--_

Abruptly, she stood up, suddenly feeling seven pairs of eyes on her. "I'll be right back—excuse me," she mumbled to herself as she scampered out of the living room into the hallway, passing Vachon on the way. 

"Back bedroom, Mike!" Vachon whispered to her back just as she saw him open the bedroom door and step outside into the hallway.

Seconds later, she standing in front of Spike, not knowing if she should hug him or scream at him for screwing her insides up like he had. 

His face expressionless, he grabbed her arm and yanked her into the bedroom. He kicked the door shut and pushed her back against the door. With his arms on her shoulder's, his body pressing up against hers, his dark blue orbs sparkling with passion and pain, held her in his thrall.

"I _**need**_ you. I was wrong up there—in the attic," he said, his eyes filling with bloodtears. He dropped his hands, pushing off her and began pacing in front of her. "I need you to help me help them. I need you to hold me and tell me its okay—I need you to love me just as she loved me when you left. I can't let myself fall into that bloody hole that I fell into when you left. We've got to help Willow—Angel needs us now. I—" he stopped and ran his hand through his hair. "I can't worry about offending their sensibilities—not at the expense of me losing it, love. 

"My control is shaky at best—"

She grabbed his hand, stilling him. "It's okay, Spike. I understand. I just didn't think you did."

He chuckled humorlessly. "I maybe slow on the uptake tonight, luv, but I finally get it."

Mike shrugged. "Then, let's get to it. And get everyone to bed. We've got a long day ahead of tomorrow and," she stopped and yawned, "I don't know about you—but I'm exhausted."

She walked over to the door and left the room in search of Amy.

~~~

Willow couldn't remember ever being this tired. 

Not even after waking up from a coma in time to re-soul Angel.

Not after opening a portal to Hell and summoning Angel back home.

Not even after studying for finals week her junior year in college—when she had foolishly taken too many hard classes in one semester.

Nope, this beat them all.

And it was because of Angel.

She missed him. It was like this aching hole in her heart, mind and soul that just stood there—simmering in its own pain.

She hated it. 

And right now, she was feeling a lot of very un-Willowy things—like anger, resentment, jealously and envy at her friends and their happiness. 

She found herself especially angry at Spike.

How dare he latch on Mike like she was the lifeboat in the sea of his misery? Where the hell was her lifeboat? Willow was supposed to be wrapped in the safe cocoon of Angel's arms as they slept their last night away in Sunnydale before leaving for Europe tomorrow.

Instead, her lover was gone, floating around the aether waiting for Willow to bring him back once again—all the while she had to deal with being Immortal and alone by herself.

Why did it happen?

And why was she so angry?

When Mike first came in, standing in between Vachon and Spike, all Willow could think was, 'Thank the Goddess—we may survive the night.' She could see how tenuous Spike's control was and knew that Mike would anchor him—doing whatever it took to keep Spike's bloodlust in check.

And now that the other Immortal was doing just that, all Willow could feel was resentment. 

Chuckling softly at herself and her foolishness, she made both her and Richie's cot, all the while thinking of the conversation she and Mike had once Mike managed to disengage herself from the rest of the gang.

It was then that Mike explained to her that Richie was going to be her mentor. Willow nodded, wishing it could be Mike, but knowing that the other Immortal wasn't ready to be a mentor yet. Mike still wore her Immortality with unease—even after all these years. Yet Richie, only Immortal for a two additional years, was much more comfortable with his preternatural existence than Mike had ever been.

Although Willow never asked the Immortal woman why that was so, she knew it had to do with the fact that she had been a Watcher and grew up in a Watcher's family. That fact alone had probably set the tone for at least the first fifty years or so of Mike's immortal life. She'd come from a family where Immortals were to be watched and observed and suddenly to find herself become the very thing she had been told that was only meant to be watched and observed, had to be a bit disconcerting.

Especially in Mike's world—where Immortals were the only preternatural beings she had been aware of—and never secretly carried a fear that she could become what she had been studying all those years.

That wasn't true with the Scooby Gang. 

They all knew the risks of involving themselves in the supernatural world of vampires, werewolves and witches—that they could become what they fought against for all those years. 

It was an unpleasant side effect of their duty.

_Very unpleasant,_ she thought to herself. And now, she not only had to train but figure out a way to trap Angelus without endangering herself in the process.

She had to get Angel back. An eternity without him was just not acceptable. Without him at her side, Immortality seemed more like a nightmare instead of blessing.

And more than anything, Willow wanted it to be a blessing. 

It would make everything else that came along with it, much easier to deal with. 

Like the killing...

"Don't do it, Rosenberg," she muttered to herself. She knew if she walked down this path that night, she might just lay her head down in front of Morden and say the hell with it. 

And she couldn't do that to Angel.

She would survive.

And so would Angel.

Anything less was just not possible

to be continued...


	7. Default Chapter Title

## A Serendipitous Beginning Interlude I:

#### by  
Lisa Y. Drexel  
Chapter One

~~~~~  
Opening up Ain't as Easy as it Sounds  
~~~~~

* * *

Mike glanced at the backpack sitting on the floor and then looked over at the closed bedroom door.

It was finally happening. 

Her stomach turned slowly, leaving a terrible acidic taste in her mouth.

She walked over to the dresser and leaned over, placing her hands on the wood and stared at her reflection. Sometimes, her mind would play tricks with her. For a fleeting second, she would see herself as she should look and not as she did now—a middle-age woman with tendrils of gray mixed in with her blond locks, a few more lines in her skin—the ones at the side of her mouth more pronounced than they were. Crows feet at her eyes...

That's how she should look.

Instead, she was 39 years old, stuck in a body 30-year-old body with a 25-year-old physique.

What did she ever do to deserve this?

Sighing, she pushed herself up into a standing position and grabbed her braid, tugging off the tie and began unbraiding her hair. Seven years of flying as a passenger in a vampire's arms had taught her to put up her hair or she would be spending hours trying to de-tangle it. 

As she ran her fingers through her hair, she heard the quiet bustle of everyone getting settled in for the night—or was that day—and silently wondered what everyone thought of her. Not even a day had passed and she was already warming Buffy's side of the bed. When looking at it that way, she felt dirty.

But when she sat back and looked at all the facts and felt Spike's moods evening out, she knew she was doing the right thing. Vampires were different creatures than humans—their emotional needs changed just as their eating habits did. What did that make her, though? She was an Immortal: neither human nor vampire. Kinda stuck in the middle, carrying traits of both races

Digging out her comb from the backpack, she fell down on the bed, pulling her feet up and crossing them Indian style and began the arduous task of combing her hair as she thought about that question.

Bloodlinks.

It was that—more than her metamorphous into an Immortal—which changed her. She could barely remember what it was like to make love to Methos and be so separate from him. Her link to Spike changed her in ways that she was only now beginning to understand. Even those years with Vachon were more intimate than her time with the Old Man.

And she loved Methos.

When she saw Spike earlier that night for the first time in all those years apart, she realized something that she hadn't given much thought to—never again was she going to spend that much time apart from him. It was horrible. She felt like she had lost a limb and not her mate. It was only when she saw him on the roof, that she felt whole again—after six years of emptiness.

Nine months.

All they had together was nine measly months and yet it nearly killed her when she left him. Looking back, she wondered where she had gotten the courage to go back to St. Louis alone. If she knew then what she knew now, she doubted if she would ever have left.

Slayer—Buffy—love—all of it—be damned.

It just took too much out of her.

Restless and in need of a nicotine, she stood up and grabbed her lighter and cigarettes and headed out of her old bedroom.

Once in the kitchen, she saw the back door and opened it, stepping outside into the post-dawn morning. She sat down on the edge of the concrete patio, lit a cigarette and brought her legs up and rested her chin on her knees. 

It was there that Spike found her.

* * *

Spike opened the bedroom door and nearly cursed outloud at its emptiness. He was so sure she'd be in there, waiting for him that for a moment he just stared at the empty room in shock.

_Use the link, you bloody fool,_ his little voice taunted him.

He ignored it.

He wasn't ready yet.

And obviously, she realized it as well. Since their last discussion about sleeping arrangements, she had pulled back—leaving only a tendril of herself in his mind. Enough to calm him. Enough for him to tweak the link if needed, but not nearly as intimate as they were used to.

Taking an unneeded breath, he opened his senses and instantly pinpointed her heartbeat.

Grinning to himself, he patted his shirt pocket for his cigarettes and once he felt them, he decided to join her. Hell, it was where he was planning on going to next—only with her.

_I'll bet she forgot about the spell,_ he thought to himself. _If she knows anything about it to begin with..._

Barely able to keep the smirk off his face, he quietly tiptoed to the back door and opened it, slipping outside in the early morning dawn. Still amazed that he hadn't gone up in a blaze of smoke, he walked slowly into the sunlight.

He instantly spotted her, sitting on the edge of the concrete patio, with her legs out in front of her and leaning back on her hands, a burning cigarette stuck in between her fingers, as she stared up into the sky.

She was so beautiful. 

Even after all this time, she could take nearly make his dead heart beat.

Shaking his head, he walked quietly over to her and slipped his hands over her eyes. 

"Surprise, love," he whispered into her ear.

Her reaction was indeed as priceless as he had imagined it to be.

He could feel her heart take off as she whipped around, nearly burning him with her cigarette as she tried scrambling to her feet to grab him.

Chuckling softly, he plucked the cigarette out of her hands—tossing it to the side and wrapped is arms around her, stilling her. He then pulled her into his lap and kissed her softly on her neck.

Opening the link, he could hear the smatterings of thoughts flying through her mind as she tried wrapping it around the miracle of him being outside with her. Beginning with her suicidal lover and finally ending at the truth...

Willow's spell.

Once he felt her body begin to relax, he leaned over and picked up her still burning cigarette and handed it to her and then wrapped his arms back around her arms and rested his chin on her shoulder.

After nearly three minutes, her heartbeat finally settled into a healthy rhythm and he knew it was safe to speak.

"Okay, now pet?"

She nodded silently, took one last drag off the cigarette and flicked it into a flowerpot that he had been using for the last five years as a butt depository. She then sighed and leaned her head back so their cheeks were touching.

"I forgot. So many of your memories and thoughts are just these floating sentences—"

"—Without any meaning until something happens," he finished for her, knowing even without the link, exactly how she felt. 

He felt the same.

It was like knowing she smoked. It wasn't until he sought her presence and found it, did he realize that she had gone out there to smoke. And then from there, he realized that he now knew she had been smoking on and off since she left him.

It had been her security blanket.

A part of him that she could take with her.

He felt her eyes on him and at the same time a rush of awe and wonder fill him. He smiled as he opened his eyes, and squeezed her arms gently while opening his heart to her.

"Thank you," she whispered as her eyes shut. Even though she turned back around, he saw the tears in her eyes and couldn't help but wonder at them.

Even though they were ones of joy—it was a bittersweet joy that he was all too familiar with. He could feel a rush of emotions fill her—ranging from happiness to self-incrimination.

All he could do is sigh.

His feelings were nearly a mirror of hers.

He suddenly felt the need to lighten the conversation and smiled as a memory of her came to mind. "I don't think I ever told you this—when I really realized I loved you. It was before the change—still my demon self and you were asleep. Has anyone ever told you how beautiful you are when you sleep?"

Smiling, Mike shook my head. "Can't say as they have."

"Well, you are Mike. You face—so young and relaxed—so free that it hit me that somehow, without me even realizing it, you had become the most important person in my life—ever. That I couldn't see a future without your smile or the way you bite your bottom lip when you concentrate on something—or your laugh, that fills a room—making everything seem a bit less daunting than it did before. 

"And it floored me."

"What day was it?"

"The day you told me you were getting a job. You were going to quit trying to live off of his money and begin doing something with your life. Even though you didn't say it, I could feel the conflicting emotions inside of you." He shook his head and smirked. "Your burgeoning feelings for me verses your steadfast love for the Old Man—the ironies, Mike, don't they just bloody blow you away?"

He felt her silent chuckle as her shoulders shook. "That's one of the reasons why I felt it wasn't fair if I stayed." She paused and lifted her head, looking up into the sky. "You always accepted that Adam would be in my life—one way or another—because he was my baggage. Well, in a sense Buffy was your baggage. You were in love with her before you even met me. Granted, it wasn't a 'realized' love, but it was there. And once she felt the same...what else could I do?"

He shook his head. "Nothing other than stay—but I knew you couldn't." He could feel his chest tighten as he thought of his burning flame...his lioness. His head fell back down on her shoulder, hiding his silent tears. "She felt you, you know. Especially after those Quickenings. Even though after the third one, I had managed to block most of your opponents thoughts and feelings, I never could block you too well."

Her heard her sniffle as she nodded in acknowledgement. "Yeah, I know. I worked on it as well, but it wasn't until I met Cassandra that I even knew that I had some sort of empathic abilities to begin with. This link just intensified them. That's why I can read Quickenings," she paused. "I felt her too. I was still feeling bits of her tonight—just random Buffy-thoughts." She pulled away enough to lift her hair up off her shoulders and expose the back of her neck.

She was sporting a large and ugly fading bruise on the back of her neck, a little over to the left side of her neck. 

It was in the same place where he swore Buffy's own neck hit the wall. He lifted his fingers up and caressed it, cursing under his breath. "Bloody hell, I did this to you—"

She shook her head as she dropped her hair, covering his hand. "No, you didn't. Who left whom? Who told whom that if he didn't get with her, she was going to stake him herself? Umm? Weren't those my words?" She turned to face him. Spike could see the determination in her eyes. "We just didn't know. There's no manual on how to deal with this bloodlink—this soul-link." She lifted her hand and wiped his face. "We're just winging it. So, now we know." A small smile curved her lips as she shrugged.

"Yeah love, now we know," he said softly as she turned back to face the back of the yard. He buried his head in her hair and closed his eyes—inhaling her scent—taking in all that was Mike now. 

It, like a lot of things about her, had changed.

How many other differences was he going to find?

He lifted his head and sighed airlessly.

"What?" 

"You've changed," he whispered, unable and unwilling to hide his dismay.

He felt her body shake in his arms and could almost taste her anguish it was so sharp. "I know. You've changed too. It's the way of things."

Groaning, he dropped his forehead on her shoulder. "I'm learning that."

"You think I should've stayed."

He shook his head even as his mind was screaming yes.

Mike's laugh was nearly brittle in bitterness. "Now you know why I came out here for a cigarette." She pulled back far enough so she could see him. "I was in the bedroom, all ready to get undressed and suddenly the walls felt like they were closing in on me. My bedroom—our bedroom—yours and Buffy's bedroom. Jesus Christ, Spike—we've got to stop this before we let all this remorse and sadness eat us up alive."

He pulled out underneath her, barely catching her surprised body before she fell back hard onto the concrete. As soon as she was steady, he was on his feet, prowling behind her. "You think I don't know that? But I can't stop it!"

He growled as each emotion pounded into him like a sledgehammer. Loss, love, anger, abandonment, hatred, rage, fury, joy, happiness...

And so much pain.

He didn't know where it began or ended. Seeing her after all these years was not only soothing him, it was also bringing up all those feelings he had when she left him years before.

Even while he loved Buffy and gave her everything he could, Mike was still there in his heart, his mind and even his dreams. Sometimes, he would dream of her at Wolf's Bane, working and laughing—other times he would dream of her and Vachon making love. He even sat with her while she was attending one of her classes. 

It wasn't until Willow let some Mike fact slip out did he even realize that while he was asleep, he had been actively seeking Mike out.

He even got a taste of her nightmares...

He ran his fingers through his hair and stared down at her.

That's what hurt the most. To know that even while he was happily in love and in a relationship with Buffy, that he sought her out and yet, Mike hadn't done the same.

It hurt.

It hurt that she managed to keep away while he couldn't.

It hurt because he felt like he spent the last six years betraying Buffy by seeking Mike out.

It just plain hurt.

"I couldn't do it," she whispered, sensing his feelings. "It hurt too much for me to see. Don't you get it, Spike? I was fighting for my life—for your life—our life—our future and every time I caught a flash of you being happy, it sucked at my will to live. Jav—he helped—but he wasn't you or even the Old Man. Fucking hell—" her voice rose as she scrambled to her feet and faced him—her gray eyes flashing as her body stood rigid with tension. "What the fuck do you want from me? I gave you my soul, my heart and left it with you when I left. For six years, I've learned the keen art of survival—existing—maybe even complacency, but never happiness—" She stopped, her eyes shut as tears rolled down her face. She took a deep breath and opened them. "Never happiness. So, was I wrong to leave? Tell me! Do you regret the last six years or can we just let it the fuck go!" She began pacing in front of him as waves of rage pounded into him.

Spike was stunned.

As he listened to her rising voice and watched her body flush with anger, all he could do was stare at her. She never got mad at him. Not like Buffy did, and yet, here she was tearing into him like a wild banshee. 

Why?

What changed?

And then it hit him. She shut down her side again. All he was picking up was errant emotions. No thoughts or full-fledged feelings. And if it was dry on his side, he could bet it was on hers as well.

He took an unneeded breath, forcing himself to calm down as he thought of what to say to her. Once he was sure he could speak to her without yelling back, he began.

"Luv," he walked over to her and placed his hands on her shoulders, forcing her to remain still. "Open your side—"

"I can't!" she yelled, trying to pull herself out of his grasp. "You don't need this right now. You don't need my shit—"

"Mike, I do need it. I need you—all of you—not the bits and pieces you've been throwing me. All of it. Open up," he whispered as he drew her into his arms.

Her body shook as sobs racked her body. "But—"

"Mike, come on love," he urged, kissing her tears away. "Open up."

After nearly five minutes of silence, she did.

Wave after wave of thoughts and emotions filled him, making him realize that she did have much more control over this link that she had let him believe. 

It was enough that he could keep them both standing as he was hit with the last six years of her life in excruciating detail. Most of it he knew of, but it still hurt. Especially all those years she spent with Vachon in her bed. And yet, he knew just as quickly why she had been doing it. 

It anchored her. When she took a head, or even had a nightmare, raw, bloody sex with the Spaniard was the only thing she found that gave her stability. 

She tried other things—drinking the highest on the list—but vampire sex ending in her death was the only thing that really worked.

So much pain to deal with—so much loneliness.

Barely keeping it together himself, he swept her in his arms, the beautiful sunlight forgotten and carried inside to their bedroom.

Not even bothering to take their clothes off, he held her while she clung to him—both trying to shoulder one another's heartaches—ease the burden of life from one another's shoulders—and barely managing to maintain control.

Even as he wondered if she might've been right to try and keep herself locked away from him, he knew in his heart, he was right. Neither of them could really help each other, until the past was put where it needed to be placed—in the past.

And that wasn't going to happen until they had full disclosure.

Spike's last thought before exhaustion finally claimed him was he wished he had been wrong—it might've been a bit less emotionally straining—on both of them.

to be continued in **_A Serendipitous Beginning - Chapter Seven_**

* * *


	8. Default Chapter Title

## A Serendipitous Beginning

#### by  
Lisa Y. Drexel  
Chapter Seven

~~~~~~~  


Friends, Comrades and Angst: A Beautiful Combination

~~~~~~

* * *

It was the horrible pounding in her skull that pulled Mike out of her deep sleep. Groaning, she opened her eyes as she felt the telltale singing in her head. Instead of just Willow's signature—there were now three distinct Quickenings.

Luckily, for everyone—she recognized the other two.

"Shit," she moaned, as she tried to sit up, but was restrained by a pale arm wrapped tightly around her waist.

_Spike..._

"Honey...let go of me...I have to get up," she whispered as tugged on his hand. 

She heard his deep voice groan softly. "Gods below—we just fell asleep!" Instead of releasing her, he rolled over on top of her, pinning her underneath him. "Who is it?" He asked, growling softly.

"From the throbbing in my head, I'd have to say its Richie and Mac," she said grinning as she watched him try to open his eyes.

He lifted his scarred eyebrow questioningly once both eyes were open. "So, I finally get to meet the great and wonderful Duncan MacLeod?"

Mike groaned as a low chuckle escaped her lips. "Oh, this is going to be so fun," she said, groaning softly. Mike lifted her head and kissed him chastely on his lips. "So, are you going to let me go?"

"Never," he whispered right before his lips descended down onto hers, stopping her from protesting as his tongue slipped inside her mouth and danced with hers. 

He gently broke the kiss and smiled down at her. "Never Mike, never again."

Tears filled her eyes and she nodded in agreement. "Never again, Spike."

He bent down and kissed her wet face, his tongue lapping at her tears and finally rolled over, freeing her.

She squeezed his hand and took a deep breath, as the sound of the doorbell filled the house. "Why Mac?" she asked as she swung her legs off the bed and stumbled towards the door. "Do you realize that this is the first time he's bothered to visit me since I lived with Methos?" Biting her bottom lip, she tried ignoring the stabbing pain in her heart. His absence in her life had stung deep. She knew he wasn't her mentor, but when she looked back at those two years she spent with Methos first in Seacouver, and then Paris, Mac had always been there. As her friend, confidant, teacher and then suddenly he was gone. Not there at all. Instead, there was a big fat empty spot in her life—right next to where Methos' should've been.

It hurt that he had chosen to keep his distance for this long. And though she should feel grateful for his help now, especially with Morden hanging around, she found she just couldn't feel that way. What if he decided to use his age and wisdom to tell her that she was wrong in the way she was helping Willow or dealing with Angelus and Morden? Or worse yet, what if he came down to Sunnydale to inform her that he had found a way to sever the link between Spike and her? She knew he hated it—just by the way he avoided talking about it whenever they were together.

How could one person cause all this turmoil in her heart when she wasn't even in love with him? Usually, this kind of mass confusion in her heart was reserved for Spike and Methos.

She looked over at her lover and saw her emotions being reflected back to her from him. 

"I know, baby," Spike whispered as rolled out of bed and walked over to her. After taking her hand and squeezing it gently, he gave her one of his patented smirks. 

If only she could bottle them, she'd make a fortune. 

"Let's go say hello to the annoying Celt, shall we?"

Laughing softly, Mike nodded and they left the bedroom.

* * *

Once entering the living room, Spike released Mike's hand and nodded towards the door as he heard the soft moans of pains coming from the darkened corner. "You go get the door, love and I'll check on Willow."

Grimacing, Mike nodded as he felt a flood of guilt hit him—almost as if it were his own. He knew she felt as if she were letting Willow down, but hadn't realized how intense it was. Gods, everything Mike was feeling for the last few hours were intense. He wondered if it had something to do with the link—since his emotions seemed to be much more dulled than normal. Maybe that was the way things worked—the stronger one took on the other's pain until it wasn't needed anymore.

Another question for Vachon, he thought to himself as he easily wove his way through the darkened room until he reached Willow's cot. Kneeling beside her, he grabbed her hand and squeezed it. "Wills, it's okay, pet. It's the Quickening again," he whispered, staring into her owlish green eyes.

He heard Mike unlock the door and wave in the two Immortal guests, quickly shutting it behind them.

"See love? Mac and Richie are here?"

"Mac? You mean Duncan MacLeod?"

Pursing his lips, he nodded—unable to totally cloak his resentment towards the elder Immortal. 

Willow pulled her hand out of his grasp and sat up. "Why is he here?"

Spike could only roll his eyes and shrug. "Beats the living hell out of me, love. As if we don't have enough problems on our own."

After she rubbed her eyes, she stared over at him. "You don't like him too much, do you?"

Spike sighed airlessly. "I don't know." He shook his head, wondering if he would ever be able to put into words exactly how he felt. Or what exactly were his feelings versus Mike's feelings. All he knew was that for the past six years, he'd been silently fuming at the older Immortal's obvious hands-off approach with Mike. If it had been in character, he could've understood. But the bloody prick was embodiment of The Boy Scout and his avoidance of Mike and her obvious hardships were totally at odds with his personality.

So, it had to be personal. MacLeod must not like Mike.

And if that were true, then Spike had to wonder why. Mike was a likeable person. A helluva lot more than Spike had ever been so what was MacLeod's problem? 

Chuckling mirthlessly, he just shook his head as he watched Mike lead MacLeod and Richie into the kitchen. "Let's just put it this way—he's got some explaining to do and then maybe I'll make a decision."

Willow nodded. "Well, I'm going in there with you. I can't sleep anyway and if I had to lie in here all the while knowing you guys are discussing my future—I'll just explode! Or maybe that's implode..." She shook her head, chuckling softly. "When I start babbling—I know I'm on autopilot."

He gave her shoulder a friendly squeeze and stood up. "Don't be so hard on yourself, pet. The way this past day's been, if it had been possible I'd have been running around with my demon face permanently plastered on my face."

He held out his hand and pulled her up to her feet. Once they were both standing, he looked down at her and cupped her chin gently. "How are you? Really?"

Tears flooded her eyes as she turned her head. "It hurts, Spike. It really hurts."

Nodding, he could understand all too well—feeling that same ache (albeit, dulled by the bloodlink)—in his own heart. "We'll get Peaches back, love. I promise you that."

She nodded as she wiped her face with her bare hand. "Thank you. I wish I could say the same about Buffy," she added softly.

Spike felt his chest tighten as he nodded curtly. "So do I, love," he said as his mind flashed on Buffy's broken body the night before. _Good, it still hurts,_ he thought to himself as he wrapped an arm around Willow's shoulder and gave her a quick hug. Once he let go of the red head, he turned and he started walking towards the kitchen, trying not to think about her pain or his own too much—knowing that if he did, he could easily become the basket case he was the night before. And yet, despite that, somehow knowing that Buffy's death still hurt gave him comfort. It was actually nice to know that his pain was still his own—despite the link. 

Not even a minute later, they were standing at the same doorway Spike saw Mike lead Richie and MacLeod into and he stopped. "Ready love?" Spike asked her.

Willow gave him a small smile. "As I'll ever be."

"Well, I'm not sure I am," he muttered as he stepped through the doorway and waved Willow in. Once the youngest Immortal was inside, he reached for the sliding door, and pulled it closed—effectively shutting the room off from the hallway. 

Without giving either guest a glance, he strode through the kitchen to entryway that led into the dining room and pulled out another sliding door. "I had them installed after Buffy had decided to take up cooking in the middle of the morning. Bloody hell, she'd keep me up all day banging pots and pans around here," he added softly, clenching his jaw. He then walked over to the backdoor and hit a switch, turning on a fan—filling the room with its mechanical buzz. "She also loved cooking with garlic." He leaned back against the sink and lit a cigarette as he looked over at Richie.

"So, how are you, mate?"

Richie shrugged. "All right I guess. Been writing some."

Spike smiled, remembering the paperback book that Willow had given him a little over six months before. A fantasy novel—trolls and everything. "Yeah, I read your last one—what was it called...A Nefarious Journey? I liked it—good read."

"Thanks man. Next one is going to be out in a month. They even want me to do a book tour on that one! I had to beg out of it," he added, his tone a bit forlorn.

Spike couldn't blame him either. It was one of the downfalls of immortality—be it vampire or Immortal—one had to stay out of the limelight. Mike would never be able to publish papers on the psychological problems of inherent to being Immortal, Richie would never get his well-earned fame for being a great storyteller and Willow would never be known for her work on incorporating computer technology with magical elements.

Their work would all be forced down under the cloak of immortality.

_Morose much, Spike?_ he snapped at himself as MacLeod stepped up to him. 

He lifted his eyes and really studied the infamous MacLeod, instantly realized that he wasn't too far off from his original opinion of the Immortal: he was too much like the Peaches Spike had been reunited with when the blond vampire first came to Sunnyhell. And because of that, Spike found himself instantly disliking him. MacLeod oozed in self-righteousness and morality and yet Spike knew this man had made mistakes. 

Two of the said mistakes were sharing the same room with him—and yet both Mike and Richie insisted this Immortal should be the One—if the Game should really come to an end. Spike could never understand that. He'd much rather see the world under Mike or Richie's gentle, empathic care than MacLeod's.

He'd never met a righteous man he even cared enough about to try and like.

Shrugging to himself, he nodded at the Immortal. 

MacLeod held out his hand and for a fleeting second, Spike almost didn't take it—that is until he felt Mike mentally nudge him.

_We don't need anymore problems than we already have, Will..._

Clenching his jaw, Spike took the hand and shook it once and met MacLeod's dark brown eyes. "You know, MacLeod—I've gotta wonder why you're even here. For over six years, you've stayed out of all things concerning Mike. So what changed your mind, if don't mind me asking?"

MacLeod released his hand and sighed softly. Spike watched as he clenched his teeth and stare off to the side. "I knew this wouldn't be easy. I also know that I've been neglectful when it comes to Mike—"

Spike could feel her anger and pain as it flowed through her. _You've got that right, mate,_ he thought to himself.

"—and I should've come to St. Louis as soon as Methos went underground." The older Immortal turned to Mike, who was now leaning against the kitchen counter. "I was wrong—on so many fronts. And I'm sorry," he added softly as his eyes met Mike's stormy gray ones.

She bit her bottom lip and nodded and Spike could feel her shoving her anger down—refusing to let her problems with him interfere with everything that was happening in Sunnydale at the present. 

It was something Spike couldn't do.

"What I want to know is why, mate? Why did all of you let her go when you knew she wasn't ready for the Game?" 

Spike could feel Mike's glare searing into his skin, but purposely ignored it. He had to know if this would happen again—the next time it could be with Willow or even worse, a repeat performance with Mike. 

Mike and Richie may trust him, but as far as he could see, he couldn't. 

"What would you've done if she hadn't come back here with me? Would you've let her die just because the Old Man couldn't keep his pecker in his pants? Bloody hell, the Old Man was fuming about it! He couldn't believe that you didn't pick up after she left here." Spike shook his head in disgust. "I know, he told me as much." He paused, his eyes pinning the Scot's down. "Think of how many heads she took while you were sitting safe and sound in good ol' Seacouver—"

"Spike—"

"No love, don't. What I want to know is why you care now, MacLeod—when for the last six years, Mike's only contact with other Immortals have been challenges, clients or Richie and Cassandra—"

"Cassandra?" 

Spike watched the Scot's mouth drop in shock. "You've been in contact with Cassandra?"

Spike watched his lover nod as she scooted over closer to him—as if fearing the Scot's reaction. Inwardly groaning, Spike was reminded all over again why he hated it when more than a handful of intimate acquaintances gathered in one place at the same time. Humans called it Christmas and Thanksgiving most of the time, but Spike called it hell. And right now he had a front row seat to the emotional fireworks filling up the kitchen.

_Poor Willow,_ he thought to himself as he watched her begin to make the coffee. After scooping out the grounds, he stepped back from the sink far enough for her to fill the glass decanter for the coffee maker. Once finished, he went back to his previous spot. _The git's probably wondering if she should even bother living past today the way things are going..._

"Richie, did you know this?" The Scot asked, refusing to let the subject drop.

Richie groaned loudly, banging his head on the table. "Yes, I knew it!" He shook his head and looked over at Spike. "Why are we talking about this now? I mean—what about Willow?"

Although Spike may've agreed with him under any other circumstances, this one battle needed to be fought now—despite its possible inappropriateness.

After dropping his cigarette into the sink, Spike turned back to Richie. "Because mate, how can I trust him with Willow after all that has happened with Mike?"

"Why should it matter if you trust him or not, Spike? Isn't it my life?"

"Yes it is, pet. But, I told you last night. You're my responsibility until we get Peaches back—he's my sire, my friend and you are his mate. You're family, love, and I can't let that go."

Spike watched Willow nod—acknowledging the truth of his words—and walked across the kitchen to sit at the table, next to Richie. "Okay—he's right. After all these years—first as Angel's friend and then as his lover, one thing I understand is that blood is family to vampires. And since Angel isn't here, I'm sure he would want Spike to do what Angel can't. So, the short of it is what Spike says goes—with moderation."

Mike chuckled softly as she nodded in agreement. "Always with moderation. You can't have them running your life or pretty soon it won't be your life."

"Love, you're not helping any."

"Sorry," his lover muttered although Spike could feel that she was anything but remorseful. They hadn't had a chance to discuss her own trials of establishing independence in the midst of vampiric concern, but Spike had her memories. Even he had to admit that his lover was an expert on maintaining independence despite everyone else's meddling. Shaking his head, he watched in awe as she swiped his second cigarette out of his fingers and take a deep drag off it before handing it back to him. 

Spike knew she did that just to spite MacLeod.

_And the fun keeps rolling on in,_ Spike thought to himself as he watched the Scottish Immortal pace in front of him.

"So, MacLeod—what's going to be? I'm no fool. I don't want to turn down your help. But that being said, when it comes to Willow's training, I thought it was agreed to a long time ago that Richie was going to be her mentor—"

"It was and I am. Mac came because of Mike—not Willow—okay Spike?"

"What do you mean?" Mike asked as looked up at Mac. "Why? Did something happen—"

"Mike—no. Nothing bad." MacLeod took a deep breath and grabbed her shoulders. "Richie told me what happened last night—and your neck. I'm just worried. And yes, I'm worried about Willow too. I've stayed out of this," he paused, waving at Mike and Spike. "The bloodlink and everything that came with as well as you once LaCroix got involved. I'll be honest—I don't care for that vampire at all. I had run-ins with him long before I knew of his and Methos friendship." MacLeod dropped her arms and again began pacing in front of her and Spike—tension rolling off him in waves. "And as you well know—I've always had problems with Methos and you. The way he opened up to you while never giving me a straight answer—hurt. And yet, his insistence on being almost a mentor to me coupled with his inability to trust me and then to watch him place all that trust in you."

"He left me," Mike said softly. "He didn't trust me anymore than he trusted you. You just got a different piece of him than I did, that's all." She dropped her eyes as she nibbled on her lip. "So, is that why you lied to me that last night in Paris?"

"Yea," MacLeod nodded his eyes downcast. "And everything just snowballed on top of it. I let my guilt push me away from you. Even though I talked to LaCroix and Nick weekly, sometimes Vachon—even gave the Spaniard pointers—especially when you were in Toronto—I still kept my distance. And as you know, it was my idea for him to take you to Toronto to begin with. But none of that precludes the fact that I wasn't there—when I should've been." 

Spike watched as the Scot stopped in front of Mike and gave her a small smile. "And the irony of all it, is that I really care for you—love you like I do Richie and I know that I would've been devastated if anything would've happened to you." He sighed loudly. "All I can say in my defense is that I did know that you were in good hands. Despite any personal feelings I may harbor towards LaCroix, I've always known that he takes his duties and obligations seriously."

Spike could feel her tears before she actually sobbed softly as MacLeod wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly. 

Rolling his neck in a vain attempt to release the stress that had building for the last twelve hours, Spike turned to see Willow leaning against Richie, crying soundlessly as he rubbed her back slowly. Although it may've been too much like airing of dirty laundry—everyone in the kitchen knew how what kind of a toll this had been on Mike. Although she wasn't challenged nearly as much now as she had been that first year after returning to St. Louis, Mike was far from being in the clear.

Despite her compassionate nature as well as vocation, the occasional headhunter still searched for her—wanting to be the one to draw the elusive Methos out of hiding. And Mike shouldered this heavy burden, like she had everything else in the past six years with strength and endurance, peppered with her irreverent sense of humor.

But that did not ease her loneliness. Spike could feel it—even now that their link was wide open and active—stabbing into her heart as a cold reminder of how alone she really was. Although Vachon had been a constant companion of hers for all those years, and before that, Spike was—it did not take away from the fact that her life had been empty of those of her own kind.

With only the occasional visit of Richie, Cassandra or one of her clients, the only Immortals Mike had contact with were the ones after her head. Her biannual trips to Seacouver or Paris had become her only refuge. It was then, during those times, she could recapture the peace of mind she once had when she first became Immortal.

Mike pulled away and chuckled softly as she rubbed her wet face. "Now, wasn't that fun, everyone?"

Spike couldn't help himself—he reached over and wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her back against him. "Loads love. I could go another hundred years without this much angst. How 'bout you, Richie?"

"Definitely in agreement with you, man. Willow?"

She nodded, her lips curving slightly as she shrugged. "I'm used to it—try playing mediator with The Xander and Angel Show for over five years..." 

Spike watched her face flash with pain, but to his surprise, Willow managed to push it away. _She's a lot stronger than you give her credit to being, mate. Remember that,_ he told himself as he watched MacLeod walk over to the coffee maker and pour himself a cup.

"Does anyone else want any?"

Three grunts to the affirmative spurred the Immortal to begin preparations. Spike could feel the hunger rise and looked longingly over at the refrigerator.

He felt Mike laugh softly as she disengaged his hands. "I'll get it," she whispered as he felt her amusement at his laziness over the link. 

She walked over to the refrigerator and sighed softly as she stared at the bottles. "Which kind, Spike?"

"The one that says Spike's Special, love. That's your blood in it."

She pulled out a bottle and looked at it in awe. "All these years—doing that and yet to see a bottle that has my blood in it—it's kinda weird."

"Is that how you managed to keep the bloodlust down?" Mac asked as he walked over to the table and set down two coffee mugs for Richie and Willow.

"Yeah—between Mike's and Buffy's blood—I've been killer-free for nearly seven years. Well, not counting that Immortal that challenged the Old Man on Holy Ground—sucked him dry and loved every minute of it!" He took the offered bottle and pulled out the cork with one of his fangs. He took a deep drink and leaned back—poignantly aware of the differences now that he had once again tasted Mike.

He was amazed he managed to survive as long as he had without killing.

Mac's eyebrow went up. "You mentioned that earlier—he was here. I think Mike—didn't you tell me that?"

She nodded as she sipped her coffee. "He was looking for me and found Spike instead."

"Yeah, he thought the Hellmouth might deter an especially zealous Immortal by the name of Kahn. The bloke was a fool and actually had the bloody balls to challenge Methos on Holy Ground on the Hellmouth. Luckily for the Old Man as well as for Sunnydale in general—I was patrolling. Back then, Peaches still didn't trust me to do a good job—so he was out there too. We attacked him—much to the amusement of the Old Man. I got to drain the prick and then Methos and I bonded over a bottle of bloodwine for me and a fifth of Jack Daniel's for him."

"What I would've paid to be a fly on that wall," Mac mumbled to himself.

Mike laughed in agreement. "Me too. I'm sorry I missed him. Who knows when he'll come up for air again."

Mac shrugged. "I think it'll be sooner than you think, Mike. He hasn't had a Quickening in nearly five—maybe six years," he said. "Wherever he is, he's managed to find someplace safe to live. I think he'll come around once he hears that you've not been challenged in awhile. 

"So, how long has it been?" Mac asked.

"Six months since I've taken a head," Mike said. "Three months since I've been challenged. I talked myself out of that last one—he actually became a patient for awhile," she said, smiling. "Good kid—bad teacher—scared and insecure. I don't think he was actually hunting me either. We just bumped into one another at the movies—of all places."

"It happens everywhere," Mac said softly. "So anyway, he's in contact with someone—because occasionally I get letters forwarded to me—never the same postmark. Joe gets them too. And from what LaCroix has hinted at it—so does he. I think that once Methos feels its quieted down enough—he'll be around."

Spike inwardly grinned, taking perverse pleasure out of the fact that he was indirectly responsible for the Old Man's last dig into obscurity. It was Spike that sent Methos to Aristotle—using the vampire who was directly responsible for creating new identities for hundred's of Souled-Ones. And Spike took a lot satisfaction in knowing that it had worked so well.

And if Methos were feeling confident enough to have the vampire forward letters to his friends, it wouldn't be that long until he finally came above ground.

How Spike felt about that was still up in air. A part of him really liked the oldest Immortal—enjoying his wicked sense of humor as well as feeling a kinship to him that was not unlike that of his recent reconciliation with Angel. Methos, like Spike and Angel, had known and breathed evil that was akin to both the vampires—and Methos dealt with it much like Spike had been for the past seven years—refusing to allow the guilt to kill his soul. 

A lesson that Angel had only recently learned. 

That is until he lost his soul again.

What Spike feared the most about Willow's plan was that his sire would have to start over once again. That his guilt would once again destroy whatever chance he may've had to become happy.

And that in turn would shatter Willow.

"Mike, can I see your neck?" Mac asked as he walked over to her. 

Nodding solemnly, she turned her head and lifted her hair.

Mac ran his fingers lightly over the bruise, pulling back when Mike flinched in pain. "When did all this happen? What time?" he asked, concern evident in his voice.

"About nine last night—when Buffy died," Willow answered as she began wringing her hands. "A minute later, Angel lost his soul and a minute after that, I—I died," she finished softly.

Mac nodded silently. Spike could see that the Scot was not untouched by her pain. "Can you tell me exactly what happened, Mike?"

She licked her lips and set her coffee cup down. After grabbing a cigarette out of Spike's shirt pocket and lighting it, she leaned against the counter and took a deep drag. "We—Richie, Vachon and I—were drinking at Joe's. Vachon was trying to tell Richie that Jim Morrison was a vampire—"

"I didn't believe him! He's always telling me that shit!" Richie interrupted with a playful scowl.

Mike smirked at Richie and turned back to MacLeod. "And then of all a sudden—everything around me just disappeared and I felt this horrible stab of pain that ran through my heart. I just had to get out of there. I stumbled into the bathroom just as I felt something slam into me. I guess I hit the sink and died. Or something, I don't know."

Richie cleared his throat and picked up the story where Mike left off. "I felt a Quickening of sorts. Vachon and I both were already on her tail—and just before we opened the bathroom door—the air changed—you know, like a Quickening—and Vachon growled softly. We both ran in there and saw Mike, dead with her neck broke, laying on the floor."

Spike ground his teeth as the horror of the whole thing hit him. Now he understood why MacLeod came down. Mike died in the same manner that Buffy did. Would that mean, if Buffy had been beheaded...?

Fucking hell, he had almost lost Mike last night too.

"Bloody hell," he whispered, dropping his head into his hands. "Is this because I drank from Buffy?"

"Spike don't kick yourself over this," MacLeod said softly. "You didn't know."

Spike looked up and was almost surprised at the sincerity in the Immortal's eyes. After all the shit Spike just gave the man and he still was trying to be fair with him.

Amazing—considering that all Spike wanted to do at this very moment was stake himself. How could he had been so selfish—

"Don't!" Mike snapped as she swatted Spike in the gut. "Don't you dare. I told you already once—I left you specifically so that you two would get together. It's not anymore your fault than it's mine!"

Mac sighed loudly. "This bloodlink that you two share—it's a lot like the Double Quickening that Methos and I share. Ours isn't nearly as intense—I don't die his deaths or anything—but I feel them as if I had. 

"Richie had mentioned last night—and you all have confirmed it—that Angel lost has his soul somehow, right?"

"Right," Willow answered. "And you're worried about me, aren't you?"

Mac nodded meeting Willow's eyes. He walked over to her and kneeled in front of her. "I understand where you're coming from, but I don't think it's a good time for you to do this—at least not take it all on yourself."

"What are you saying?" Willow asked as her body straightened. Spike saw her eyes light up and readied himself for another battle.

He just wasn't sure what side he was fighting on yet.

"In a perfect world, Richie would sweep you up and take you somewhere safe—Holy Ground and train you mercilessly for the next year or so. In that world, Mike, me—even Vachon considering how good of a job he's done with Mike—would intermittently stop by and help you—adding our lessons to those that Richie would give you." He paused as he reached for hands, pulling them apart and stilling them. "And in that world, you would have Angel near by supporting you—and adding his two cents in as well. But Willow, it's not a perfect world."

She shook her head. "I can't leave. He'll follow. And if he doesn't follow—he'll kill everyone he can get to—just to bring me back here so he can destroy me." Tears flooded her eyes and shook her head. "We're linked already. Whether it was from me giving him a soul or getting him out of Hell itself—nothing is going to change that. 

"I have to follow through with this—lives literally depend upon it."

Mac looked up at Spike. "Is he really that bad?"

"Worse, mate. I've heard stories about your Dark Quickening and all I can say is that you were a bloody Boy Scout compared to Angelus in all his demon glory. The demon is not right. I think is was him being cursed all those years that drove it mad." He took an unneeded breath and met Willow's tear-filled eyes. "Willow's right. We either stake the bastard or change him over. There's no waiting until Willow is trained. He won't allow it."

The Scot groaned. "I thought as much. Here's my offer. We all know that for the change to happen, he needs Immortal blood, correct?"

Willow nodded yes. "So—what are you getting at? Having him drink from someone else? I don't think so," she said, shaking her head no. "With that kind of intimacy that's involved? Excuse me if I get jealous and possessive, but I've watched the way Mike and Spike are together and I don't want Angel to have that with anyone other than me!"

She ripped her hands out of MacLeod's grasp and jumped out of her chair. "This is the man—or vampire—that I had planned to spend the rest of my mortal life with—before all of this Immortality and him losing his soul again. I love him—vampire and all—with all that I am. To just walk away from him like that—you might as well take my head now—"

"No," Mac shook his head as he stood up. "No—that's not what I'm getting at. I'm saying, that while you will be his main supplier—that you not be his only source of Immortal blood. If we can somehow control the strength of this bloodlink—don't you think that it would be better? 

"Oh it's a wonderfully romantic idea to be so entwined with someone that you don't know where they begin and you end—but look at the consequences!" MacLeod pointed to Spike and Mike and the vampire couldn't help but agree with the Scot. 

Mike could've really died the night before and it was all because of their link...

"Every time she took a head, he received a mini-Quickening. And she in return, was immediately inside his head—"

"Jesus, Mac. How the hell did you know all this?" Mike asked incredulously.

He shook his head at Mike—a sad smile on his face. "I told you—I stayed involved. Just not outwardly." He turned back to Willow. "For the past six years," he paused; meeting Spike's eyes and the vampire could see the remorse in the Immortal's eyes for what he was getting ready to say. "For six years, Mike has been struggling to just to stay alive while there was a hole in her heart and soul just aching for Spike. And everytime she took a head, she got reminded all over again just how empty and desolate her life was without him. Look at them! They're practically symbiotic! 

"If you take this on all by yourself and you and Angel ever split—you could very well suffer a type of hell that makes the last 12 hours seem like a trip to Disneyland."

"Why do you care? How do you know all this?" Willow asked, her eyes shut as tears ran down her face.

"The Double Quickening. I told you it wasn't as intense as the bloodlink—but once it happened—there was nothing I could do to change it. Methos has been carrying a part of myself with him—as I do with him—and we're not whole now that we're apart. And the only way I can get it back is either for him to lose his head or to have him close by me. So, I know at least a bit of where Mike's been. And I wouldn't want that for you. Not now—you're what? Twenty-four years old?" She nodded, wiping her face. "And you're ready to take on something that you know has the possibility of making you less than whole person in the future?"

Willow turned away from him as she headed for the doorway. "I—I don't know," she whispered, her voice soft and tired. "How do we even know that it would work your way?"

"We don't," Mac said. "But it should. Willow, one last thing before you go off and think about what I've said. Mike, Spike, Methos and I never had a choice. Circumstances and ignorance took that away from us. You do have a choice."

She nodded once; her back still turned. "I'm going to check on Vachon," she said as she slipped out the door, closing it behind her.

MacLeod fell down into a chair and groaned softly. "Am I wrong?" he asked Spike.

Spike shook his head. "No mate, you're not. Unfortunately, everything you said was right on the money."

And if Spike were really honest with himself, the cost of this bloodlink was too high—especially when dealing with real life and its misfortunes.

_Much too high,_ he thought to himself as he glanced the dark, ugly bruise that had formed on Mike's neck.

to be continued in chapter eight


	9. Default Chapter Title

## A Serendipitous Beginning

#### by  
Lisa Y. Drexel  
Chapter Eight

~~~~~~~  


Old friends…New Problems

~~~~~~

* * *

A Serendipitous Beginning

Chapter Eight

~~~~~~~~~

If Wishes Were Horses...

~~~~~~~~~

Vachon's eyes shot open, he was out of bed and had someone pinned against the wall before his mind finally caught up with him.

Willow.

He recognized her scent.

Eyes flashing, he stepped back and sighed, running his fingers through his hair. "Willow-"

He could feel her nervousness as he heard her laugh softly. "Remind me never to do that again," she whispered, her voice soft and full of sadness.

He took her hand and led her back to the sofa bed and sat down. "What brings you down into my neck of the woods, Querida?"

She heard her sniffle softly and wipe her face. "Richie didn't come alone-MacLeod's here."

He reached over to the nightstand and lit the candle and leaned back against the arm of the couch, facing her. "That's strange. He hasn't visited Mike in a long time."

Willow nodded as Vachon stared at her pale skin in the golden hue of the candle light. Shaking his head at his rising bloodlust, he reached down and grabbed a bottle of bloodwine.

"He came because he had heard how Mike had died last night and because of the bloodlink and because of me and Angel."

After Vachon finished one bottle, he opened the second one all the while inwardly thanking Spike for insisting that Vachon bring two bottles of bloodwine downstairs with him. Vachon couldn't remember the last time he had slept under the same roof with more than one human and forgot how much their sweet blood tempted his bloodlust.

Smiling to himself, he looked up at Willow and sighed. "He has good reason to worry, Willow. You're not taking on an easy task."

"I know. That's why I came down here. He came up with a suggestion or a solution and I need to know if it's worth the risk."

"What do you need from me?"

She stared down at her clasped hands and nibbled on her bottom lip. "I need to know what it was really like for Mike-for her to be separated from Spike."

Vachon snorted and fell back against the cushions. "You really don't ask the easy questions, do you Querida?" He closed his eyes and thought back to the first night Mike had returned to St. Louis and shuddered at the memory. Her eyes-always so bright and full of life and laughter-

were empty and dark. He knew then it was going to be a hard road to keep her going the right way-to the direction of survival.

Mike didn't want to live back then. She might not have known it-but her eyes had already died.

"A lot worse than Mike lets on, Willow," he said and began telling her everything within reason that he witnessed in the past six years.

Nearly an hour later, Vachon stopped and watched the exhausted new Immortal nod as she pushed herself off the bed.

"I had a feeling," she whispered, as she locked her arms and leaned heavily against the hard molding of the sofa bed. "He's right, then. Angel wouldn't want that for me-if something happened to him or us."

Vachon stood up and walked over to her, wrapping an arm around her houlders and pulled her up into a standing position. "What's his solution?"

"Have him feed off more than one Immortal and make me as the primary source-but not the only one. That way-the bond won't be as strong as Spike's and Mike's-but it'll still be there." She pulled away from him and stood on her own. "I used to envy them-when I was younger. I saw her as some sort of Mother Mary who changed a demon into a loving soul." She chuckled humorlessly. "I wanted to do that for Angel."

Vachon shook his head as Mike's memories of Spike filled him. "She didn't change him, Willow. He was already on his way before he even took a sip of her blood. He may not have had a soul-but his demon wasn't as bloodthirsty as it once was."

Her eyebrows creased in confusion. "Does that mean Angel's demon will change as well? That it doesn't disappear but becomes attenuated?"

"I don't know. Maybe. What was known is gone. All we have is Mike and Spike to work from. I'm sure this has happened in the last two, three thousand years but if it has, no one has spoke or written of it." He dropped his arm from her and shrugged lightly. "We are winging it."

Yawning, she let out a soft chuckle. "Well, it won't be the first time," She whispered, more to herself. She looked up at him and gave him a small smile. "Thanks Vachon-I needed this." She yawned again and shook her head. "I think it's time for me to go to bed." She squeezed his arm and walked past him.

Not even a minute later, Vachon heard the basement door close.

Exhausted, he stumbled back over to his bed and flopped down on the mattress, barely remembering to blow out the candle before sleep claimed him once again.

* * *

Vachon wasn't sure how long he'd been asleep when his next visitor showed up.

Groaning, Vachon's eyes settled on the other vampire as Spike lit a cigarette, staring off into the darkness.

"What do you need, Spike?"

Spike chuckled softly, lifting a wine bottle to his mouth and taking a deep drink. "Do you need some more, mate? I brought down an extra bottle."

"Yeah, just leave it. I'm cool for now, but I drank two of them when Willow was here earlier."

"Whatever you said to Willow-it worked. Thanks."

Vachon shrugged. "I just told her the truth, that's all." He sat up and faced the blond vampire. "So Spike, what's wrong?"

The vampire began pacing in front of the sofa bed, shaking his head as he laughed softly. "Not much-that's the problem."

Vachon forced himself not to laugh-reminding himself that even though Spike was three hundred years younger than him, the other vampire had the strength of an elder. It was not good policy to piss him off.

Unless it was necessary.

"So?"

Spike flicked an ash on the floor as he stopped in front of Vachon. "Now, ask me how Mike's doing?"

Vachon nodded as his confusion began disappearing. This was about the link again. "Okay, I'll bite. How's Mike doing?"

"Horrible. She's crying at the drop of the hat. She's missing Buffy something fierce and she barely knew her! She's fretting overtime about Willow and MacLeod. She feels like a failure. She bloody well cried herself to fucking sleep, Javier! And I know this isn't normal-not even for her."

Vachon sighed as he rubbed his tired face. That goddamn link was going to be death of all of them. Thank God he had talked Willow into following Mac's suggestion. He didn't think he could handle two Immortal women living through what Mike had been for the past seven years. He reached up and grabbed Spike's arm, tugging him down to sit across from him.

"It's the link."

Growling, Spike yanked his arm out of Vachon's grasp, stood up and began pacing once again.

"Oh fucking brilliant, Vachon. I know that! Tell me how we can even this thing out. I can take a bit of my pain back-'

Vachon shook his head. "Maybe you should think about this. You are needed here-in control, calm, level-headed-"

Spike laughed. "Level headed? Mate, I'm far from being level headed right now!"

The Spaniard rolled his eyes. "Bullshit. You're doing fine. Maybe a little manic, but otherwise you're fine."

"All right-tell me how I can help Mike then. I can't stand seeing her like this and knowing it's my fault. Bloody hell, she finally opened up to me earlier and I know how bad it's been for her. How can I let this continue when I have the power to break it?"

Vachon sighed, falling back onto the pillow and rubbed his temples wearily. "Make love to her. Take her-give her as much pleasure as possible and drain her." Vachon shook his head, unable to hide his grin. "It works every time. It centers her."

Spike's eyebrow shot up. "You know that this is just too fucking hilarious for words, don't you?"

Vachon nodded. He couldn't help but agree. "But it works every time. That's how she got through all those Quickenings and those nightmares she's been having. I guess-if you're not ready-you could just as well stab her or snap her neck or something. But don't even know if it works and she hates dying unless it's necessary."

Spike stomped out his cigarette with his boot and sighed. "I can't wait until I have to stop asking you advice on how to deal with my mate."

"I hear you."

"Thanks Vachon," Spike whispered and a minute later, Vachon heard the other vampire stomp his way up the stairs, closing the basement door behind him.

"I can't wait either," he whispered as he fell back and rolled over on his stomach.

Minutes later, he was back asleep.

* * *

As Spike stood outside his bedroom door, he closed his eyes and let his senses peruse his house, picking out the variety of beings that were sleeping underneath his roof: six humans, four Immortals and two Souled-Ones.

A fucking full house and he was going to go into his bedroom and make mad, passionate and bloody love with his mate.

He was nuts.

And then as soon as he thought that, he nearly smacked his forehead in annoyance. Since when did he care who heard what he did? When he was a demon-vamp, he never gave a shit who was around. As long as there was a modicum of privacy available, he would've shagged Dru just about any where.

"Must be the bleedin' soul," he muttered to himself as lifted up his hand and pressed the Post-It note on the door, telling all those who read it not to disturb Spike and Mike until 5pm. He stood there, staring at it for a moment in a daze as its implications sunk in.

Sex and Mike.

He heard himself growl as he literally felt himself being torn in two.

Mike and Buffy. Buffy and Mike. Wasn't it just the day before he had made love to Buffy in that same bed-whispering that he loved her and wanted her with all his undead heart? Wasn't it just yesterday that he had felt his head almost explode in pleasure as the scent of her arousal nearly overpowered him?

Wasn't it just yesterday that she was still alive?

And yet, there was Mike.

Mike who'd unselfishly took so much of his pain and anguish upon herself and hadn't asked for anything in exchange. Mike who could've easily pulled Vachon aside and asked him for help and still, but yet, she still did nothing.

Mike, who was now lying in bed on the other side of the same door

Spike was dreading opening, being bombarded with various nightmares of Spike's, Buffy's and her own personal favorites-taking on everyone's fear with an ease that unnerved Spike to no end.

And finally, Mike, who Spike wanted more than anything in this world, to feel her legs wrap around his waist and tug him inside of her-the same Mike that he had loved for seven years with everything he was and everything that he could be.

The same Mike that he was planning on spending the rest of his unlife with.

"Bloody fucking hell," he whispered, ignoring the blood tears that were running down his cheeks.

Shaking his head, he took a deep, unneeded breath and opened the door.

He could do this...bloody hell, he wanted to do this and just prayed that wherever Buffy was, she understood.

It didn't even occur to him that she had always known and understood.

* * *

Yawning softly, Willow sipped on her coffee and watched the two elder Immortals bicker quietly in front of her.

Once she had left Vachon and told the others of her decision, she had returned to her cot and nearly instantly fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Richie woke her up three hours later.

Now, she was outside on the patio with Richie and Duncan and observing first hand Immortal relations, and not enjoying it a bit.

If she weren't so tired and distraught and missing Angel so much that it felt like a piece of her heart had been ripped out of her chest and stomped on, she might've even been amused.

As it stood, she was just pissed.

Was this how she and Richie were going to be like in ten years? Goddess, she hoped not. If so, she was tempted to find a convent now and just say the hell with it. *_Or maybe a coven?_* Willow asked herself. *_I wonder if Avalon is real? If it is, I could just go there..._*

"With Morden around, I should be the one that goes with Will," the Scottish Immortal said as he rubbed his tired face.

"Mac, she's my student-"

"And you're mine!" MacLeod snapped. "I just-"

Willow finally had enough and cleared her throat somewhat loudly.

"Excuse me?"

"Mac, it's not like I'm a kid anymore! I can-"

"Excuse me!"

"Willow?"

"What's wrong, Will?"

Shaking her head at her elders, she sighed loudly as she looked down into her coffee cup. "With Amy's abilities, I can pretty well be zapped anywhere. Why do I need either of you? Especially if you two keep acting like Xander and Angel on a bad day."

Richie groaned and shook his head. "Willow, what about Angelus?"

She shrugged. "Amy can still zap me about if need be. It doesn't matter who I'm running from." Biting her bottom lip, she looked up to meet his blue eyes. "Just please, stop fighting or I'll go and wake up Mike and say the hell with both of you, okay?" She stood up and walked across the patio to the back door. "It's already two PM. Amy, Giles and I have threehouses to cleanse and purify before dark. So, if you'll excuse me."

Willow carefully opened the back door and slipped inside, inwardly applauding her exit line. It was just a shame she knew that it had been wasted on two clueless men.

* * *

Richie fell back in his chair and rubbed his face. "Go get Mike," he said as he laughed dryly. "The last time I saw Mike, she'd be lucky if she could remember where the bathroom is, much less how to carry a sword and Willow wants her to protect her? What a great teacher I'm turning out to be."

MacLeod clasped his shoulder and sunk into the chair next to his student. "Richie, don't take it personally. She's tired, strung out-just like everyone else-and we were acting like kids." The Scot yawned as he dropped his hand. "You go ahead with Willow and I'll go with Xander, Cordelia and Joyce."

Richie opened one eye. "You do realize that going with Joyce means a stop at the morgue, right?"

MacLeod nodded, his face taking on a distant look. "I never met her. What was she like?"

"Buffy?"

"Yeah."

Richie shrugged. "I only met her a couple of times. That summer we rescued her and that first Christmas Mike spent here." Richie closed his eyes in remembrance. "She was so full of life." He grinned suddenly. "And like Mike, very irreverent with a sarcastic sense of humor. She took so much in stride. Of course, from what I heard, initially, Buffy resisted being the slayer. By the time I got to know her, she had accepted it as a matter of course. And made slaying fit into her life. Not the other way around, which in itself is apparently unheard of when it comes to slayers. I actually went patrolling with her a couple of times and she was magnificent. I've never seen anyone who could fight like she could. It was beautiful." Richie suddenly chuckled. "And the quips that she would throw out these demons. Some of them were so stupid they would just sit there and stare at her speechless and before they'd get to chance to fight back, they were dead.

"I talked to Spike a few times in the past few years. I finally had the courage to ask him when he first realized she was special."

"What did he say?" MacLeod asked him.

"He said, it was the first time he laid eyes on her-he knew then she wasn't going to die as easily as the other two slayers he faced. He was sure in for a surprise, wasn't he?"

MacLeod shook his head as a flash of anger crossed his face. "Yeah, but I wish he would've realized it before he and Mike hooked up. Sure would've saved all of us a lot of pain and worry."

"No, you're wrong," Richie said. "I don't think she would've allowed herself to fall in love with Spike if he hadn't had a soul. And Mike was the one that gave him that same soul. As bad as that may seem now-"

The Scot snorted as he stood up. "As bad, Richie? Remember how Mike looked right before she went to bed?" He shook his head in frustration. "You know what's happening, don't you? She's taking on all of Spike's grief and pain. And unfortunately, I can see the logic in it. We need Spike sane and stable. Mike isn't needed like that."

"You're right, Mac. She's not needed for that. She is needed to make Spike sane and stable. That's her job right now. And if you ask her, she'd tell the same damn thing. I may not like it, but there's nothing we can do about it."

"Well, we can't leave her alone, or Willow either for that matter, not with Morden fixated on Mike and running around. So, either one of us, Spike or Vachon has to be with one of them at all times," MacLeod said, running his fingers through his long hair. "You know, I really could use a bit of Methos-wisdom about right now."

"Yeah, I know," Richie said. "So could I."

to be continued...


	10. Default Chapter Title

## A Serendipitous Beginning Interlude II:

#### by  
Lisa Y. Drexel  
Chapter Two

~~~~~  
_Finally..._  
~~~~~

* * *

As the bedroom door clicked and closed shut behind him, Spike's eyes immediately sought out and found Mike—asleep on the bed. 

His eyes traveled the long length of a pale leg that was hanging out of the covers and he sighed softly as he felt his cock stir. Ignoring his rising desire, he stood there, leaning against the door and just watched her. 

It had been so long since he had indulged himself in this particular activity.

Besides, he wanted to give himself a bit more to time to acclimate himself with her, their relationship and the obvious consequences that renewing their intimacy would incur.

And yes, there would be consequences, of that Spike was sure. Whether it would be the reactions of his mortal friends, the prolonging of his own grief over Buffy's death or something entirely different, Spike didn't know.

But what he did know was that making love to Mike now was nothing like when he had made love to her before.

Both of them were far more cognitive of their actions and the intimacy involved now than they had been that first night all those years ago. Smiling to himself, he could still picture her sitting at the bar at Wolf's Bane—looking lost and hurt, seemingly searching for the answers of her life in a shot glass filled with Jack Daniel's. The way her throat had moved as she drank down each glass full of that amber liquor. The look of bliss that had crossed her face as she felt the alcohol rush through her body. And that hair—that's what had caught his attention at first. It was like the sun—unending and full of life. At that moment, more than anything, all he had wanted to do was touch it and find out if it was as soft and luxurious as it was inviting.

All she had been to him when he bought her that drink, when he nudged the mortal out of the seat next to her so that he could get a better look at her, was a means to an end: a quick fuck and feed.

My, how things change.

Mike had changed him.

Mike's love, blood and essence had made him in the same way that Angelus' desire, possessiveness and lust had made him over 200 years before.

It still blew Spike away. In concept, he had long ago accepted that Mike was his sire of sorts, but he never really felt it. Not like he felt it with Angelus. Maybe it was because Spike still had enough of that demon in him that insisted that siring included blood, sex and domination in that order—something which Mike had never seen a need for—considering that she was, for all purposes, human. But as he stood there at the threshold of their bedroom and could feel the rush of errant emotions and fleeting thoughts emanating from her, he could no longer deny it.

She was his sire.

And as her childe, it was it up to him to make her feel better. It was his duty and his love for her that demanded it.

_Well, when you put it that way,_ Spike thought to himself. _I have no problem doing what needs to be done._

Chuckling at his silliness, Spike pushed himself off the door and began to strip.

He could do this. What the hell was he talking about? He wanted to do this!

After shucking off his jeans and pulling off his shirt, he slowly made his way to the bed. He sat down on its edge and gently caressed her cheek. When she pressed her face against him, it felt like his whole body came alive.

One simple gesture and he was toast.

Grinning, he scooted underneath the sheet and gently took her into his arms. Her body molded itself around him. As his fingers traced her back, he felt a wave of love and need from her fill him. As he rolled them over, he felt her stir, finally waking up. By the time he began raining kisses onto her face, she was moaning his name.

He quickly pulled off her nightshirt and sighed softly at the sight of her lovely breasts. 

"Spike?" she whispered, her eyebrows creased in confusion.

He looked up and met her questioning gaze with a gentle smile. "Let me do this for you, Mike," he said as his fingers found one of her breasts and pinched her nipple.

As she arched her back into his touch, she whimpered softly, shaking her head. "I don't—I—"

"Shhh, I want to make love to you," he said right before he dipped his head and ran his cool tongue across her neck to her ear. "I want to hear you scream...and cum...let me," he whispered in her ear right before her nicked her with his fangs. "Will you let me?" He lifted his head to watch her face.

Her gray eyes filled with tears as she nodded yes.

One of her hands clutched his hair as the other skimmed his back. Groaning, he felt his cock harden even more as he pushed against her. God, it had been so long since he'd been with her—holding her—reveling in her warmth. Her rapid heartbeat drummed into his ears—her unique scent filled his body. Growling softly, he kissed her, nicking her mouth with his razor sharp fangs as his other hand slipped down to her bush and tickled her hair.

As her blood hit his taste buds, his mind splintered and suddenly he was surrounded by Mike. Only Mike. He could hear her thoughts, feel her pain and need for him as if it were his own. At that moment, he had no idea where she ended and where he began.

They—together—just were.

Growling, he felt the remnants of his demon scream that he had to claim her once again—make her his and this time never let her go.

His soul soared at the ecstasy of being rejoined with its mate.

And he—what made Spike Spike, be it the demon, the mortal or Souled One, was in total agreement with other parts of himself.

He was home.

This was where he needed to be.

_Will...I missed you..._

_Mike..._ he whispered in her mind.

And then, just when he didn't think that anything else could surprise him, he felt that tendril of Buffy—that part of his slayer that he had lost when she had died—fill him. Her love and joy mixed in with Mike's undying love and devotion drove him to tears.

Crying, he slipped his tongue in Mike's mouth, their saliva and Mike's blood pooling in their mouths, he knew that this was what he had needed all along. His free hand moved down to her slit and entered her. Mike's mind screamed yes as he could feel his lover approaching her climax. Her incoherent babblings filled his mind as her groans sang through the air. Slipping two more fingers inside her, and using his thumb to titillate her clit, he forcefully bit her tongue, stilling it as he drew her blood and pushed her over the precipice.

Her sex squeezed his fingers as her body tensed underneath him. Not even breaking the kiss, he quickly removed his fingers and slipped his aching cock inside her, causing her to spasm once again.

Remembering Vachon's words, Spike finally let go of her tongue and lifted his mouth from hers as he began taking her hard—slamming her into the bed. He dropped his head into the crook of her neck as he felt himself getting close to climaxing himself and slipped his fangs into her neck.

Her blood—her sweet blood filled him—joining him to her—their minds met and embraced one another as his cock finally exploded, triggering yet another orgasm from her.

When he finally stilled, his teeth still embedded in her neck, he realized her heartbeat was slowing.

Not even a moment later, she died in his arms.

It wasn't until then, that Spike removed his fangs and allowed his face to change back.

For nearly an hour he held her cooling body to his while he waited for her to revive, finally drifting off to sleep when he could no longer keep his eyes open.

And not until he was nearly asleep did he realize that he finally felt whole. After six long years, he was whole.

And so was Mike.


	11. Default Chapter Title

## A Serendipitous Beginning

#### by  
Lisa Y. Drexel  
Chapter Nine

~~~~~~~~~

Life Goes On...

~~~~~~~~~

* * *

Exhausted and emotionally spent, Willow stared numbly out of Oz's van car window and studied the front of her apartment building.

Her and Angel's apartment building.

She could feel the sob just itching to break her fragile control. Goddess, she really wanted to cry.

Just cry.

For so many things...Angel, Buffy, herself...for the parents she never knew (if she even had any), the parents that never loved her like she was their own child, the mortal life she was really, really hoping to have and most of all, because right at this moment, her life just sucked. 

The van stopped and she heard Oz quietly clear his throat beside her. "Willow, we're here."

She just nodded as she wiped her face and opened the van door.

Oblivious to everything around her, she walked up to her apartment door and started to open it.

* * *

"How is she?" Vachon asked Spike as he watched the other vampire pour himself a glass of blood.

Spike looked up from his breakfast and met Vachon's eyes. "A lot better, mate. She revived about a half an hour ago, finished off the OJ and is now taking a long, hot bath," Spike said, grinning. After knocking down the first glass, he poured himself a second one. "Her moods have evened out, and she actually spoke two complete sentences to me before disappearing into the bathroom." Spike paused, closing his eyes as a small smile curled his lips. "Thank you," he added softly as he opened them to meet Vachon's eyes. 

Vachon couldn't help but grin back at Spike. It had worked. Relief filled him and almost immediately, he felt the tension level in his body drop by nearly half. His _nina_ was going to be just fine.

"Good," Vachon said. "So, did you talk to MacLeod or Richie before they left? What's the game plan?"

Snorting, Spike picked up a piece of paper that had been lying on the counter and walked over with it and his breakfast in hand. After sitting across from Vachon at the dinette table, he pushed the slip of paper across for Vachon to read. 

"They left me a note," the blond vampire said. "I had a Do Not Disturb post-it note on the door," Spike added, smirking.

Vachon picked it up and quickly skimmed it. "So, what's the plan after they do all this?"

Spike shrugged, as he began staring at the table, running his finger around the base of his glass. "Wait, I guess. The funeral's in a couple of days. The wake, if Joyce and Buffy's father decide on one, will be tomorrow. We can't do anything until then, other than bunker down, mourn and prepare..."

"And the funeral? When's that going to be? Day or night?"

Spike leaned back in his chair and ran his fingers through his hair. "I don't know. It depends on whether Joyce is speaking to me or not," Spike said softly as he lit a cigarette. "After this afternoon, I'm not sure..."

* * *

"Why?" Xander asked in the otherwise silent car. "Why...I mean, I know _why_, but couldn't he have waited just a few days until he got pelvic with her?"

"Xander," Cordelia warned as she glared at her husband.

"No, Cordy, I'm not going to be silent. I don't understand. Why?"

"Because he had to," Joyce said softly, her voice wavering. "For Mike."

"What do you mean? For Mike?" He glanced back at her and frowned. "I don't want to upset you, Joyce. But it just seemed so inappropriate—"

Xander could hear Buffy's mother sigh impatiently as she turned in her seat and leaned against the door before she answered him. "Xander, I understand why you're upset. I probably would've been too, if I hadn't talked to Buffy about this link myself..."

"And?" he asked impatiently all the while inwardly punching himself for being such a prick. He couldn't help it—it hurt him to think that Spike couldn't even wait until after the funeral before sleeping with Mike. Did Buffy mean that little to him that the vampire could betray her in that way? 

Sighing, he glanced back in the rearview mirror and saw Joyce wiping her eyes. "Do you remember how upset Spike had been before Mike arrived?"

Xander nodded slowly, remembering the fear he felt when he saw the emptiness in Spike's eyes—the desolation—and he shuddered. "Yeah, he was a real mess."

"A real mess," Cordelia added softly. "I was actually afraid of him, and it's been a long time since I worried about my blood staying put around Spike. His eyes, they were so bleak—lost."

"And after Mike showed up?" Joyce asked as she glanced over at the Immortal sitting next to her. He met her eyes and nodded.

"I get it!" Xander said, nearly shouting. "She calmed him. But they didn't need to—"

"Xander?" MacLeod asked, interrupting his rant.

"Yeah?"

"How much do you know about this bloodlink?"

He sighed, turning on his right hand light signal. "That Mike's blood changed Spike. Gave him his soul. That when they 'open' the link—they can read each other's thoughts and feelings. Is there more?"

MacLeod nodded slowly. "Unfortunately, yes. Do you know why I came down here with Richie?"

"I assumed it was because of Morden...wasn't it?"

The Immortal took a deep breath and began to speak. As Xander listened to what had happened to Mike in Seacouver—over a thousand miles away from Spike—he could feel his anger ebb away. Although he and Buffy had discussed the changes the blond vampire had gone through—his metamorphosis so-to-speak—Xander realized now that he never did give the link as much consideration as he should have. It was just so disturbing to know that Buffy, whom he thought should be the princess to someone's prince, was never going to have that absolute intimacy with Spike that the vampire had been accustomed to. It wasn't right. It was almost as if she settled for Spike after realizing that Angel was no longer available. Out of everyone that Xander knew, he believed that the slayer deserved to be loved and cherished above all else. And although it appeared to Xander that she had been loved when she was with Spike, to know now that she wasn't revered like he believed she should've been, grated on him more than he liked to admit. 

"And she—Buffy—accepted this?" he heard himself ask. "She wanted this?"

Joyce let out a soft laugh and squeezed his shoulder. "Xander, Spike loved and still loves my daughter—wherever she is. He always will. Buffy knew that. Mike knows that. And Buffy never resented Mike's influence, because she knew that if it weren't for Mike, Buffy would've never let Spike into her heart to begin with."

MacLeod cleared his throat and met Xander's eyes through the rearview mirror's reflection. "When Mike and Spike first split and thought they had closed down the link, they found out that that wasn't quite true. They were still feeding off each other's emotions—even though she was halfway across the country. And when she took her first head, she and Vachon were in Toronto—thousands of miles away from Sunnydale—their link was blown wide open. They couldn't turn that off. And finally, you have to remember with vampires, especially Souled-Ones, sire-childe bonds are depended upon to work through strong emotions and physical pain. Once Mike and Spike opened the link last night, Mike has basically taken in all of Spike's pain in order for him to keep it together."

"So, she's like his tranquilizer," Cordy said softly.

"Okay, I can understand that—I even understood that last night. But what does that have to do—"

"Because Xander, no matter how much Spike loves my daughter, he loves Mike as well. And if she was as messed up as Mr. MacLeod said she was this morning, then Spike had to do whatever he could to help her. Buffy knew that and accepted his feelings for Mike. And she even wanted Mike to be there for Spike when she died—just as my daughter was there for him after Mike left!" Her eyes glared at him through the rearview mirror. "Can you just drop it?"

Xander's mouth snapped closed as he physically flinched at Joyce's painful entreaty. _Damn, why do I have to be such an asshole?_ he asked himself as he pulled into the hospital parking lot. 

He stared at the building, flashing on over a dozen times that he and Buffy had visited this same morgue during the last decade of slaying business. And in all that time, he never really believed that he would go here to help identify his best friend's body. 

He always thought it would be the other way around.

* * *

Willow was just slipping the key in the door when she felt it. Fear coiled in her gut as she stumbled backwards as her knees threatened to collapse: he was here.

Somewhere.

She could feel his lust and anger thrumming in her mind. 

"Willow..." his chillingly cheerful voice called out.

She turned around, trying to pinpoint it, all the while waving Richie back towards the van. "Angel?" There was something else tickling her senses...almost as if it were another Immortal. _Could it be?_ She asked herself. Or was it just her feeling Richie?

"Hello my little witch, looking so sad today..."

Something grabbed her hand, and she screamed before she realized it was her mentor. "Come on, Willow, back to the car—I feel an Immortal!" He said as he pulled her towards the van.

"Bye-bye my Little Tree..."

Richie pushed Willow inside and jumped in after her. The van was rolling before he could even close the door. "What the hell was that?" he yelled. "That was Angel, wasn't it? I recognized his voice!"

"Oh dear Lord, the bloody spell! How could we have been so stupid!" Giles groaned as he shook his head. "Can you tell if he's following us?"

Richie shook his head. "The only Immortal I feel is Willow."

"Willow?"

She shuddered uncontrollably as she felt Angelus' evil swirling in her mind. He was still close. "He may've ditched Morden, Richie. I still feel him."

"Oz, go directly to Spike's. And Amy, do you have your cellphone with you?"

Amy nodded as she pulled it out of her purse and tossed it over to the elder watcher. Giles quickly dialed Spike's phone number. "Hello...Spike? Giles here...is Mike awake yet? Good, can you have her move Buffy's car out of the garage and watch for us. We had a run-in with Angelus...no, Willow's fine....I agree...he is a pillock...unfortunately, the bloody pillock's following us too...yes, quite right....I know I forgot about it too...Good day." He closed the phone and handed it over the seat to Amy. "Oz, when we get to Spike's house, the garage door should be open. We can park in there." He reached for Willow's hand.

Willow looked up at her mentor and felt something inside of her break as a loud sob escaped her lips. She couldn't believe that she had forgotten about the daylight spell. Wasn't it just eight hours ago when she had been lying down on the cot in the living room listening to Spike slip outside to have a cigarette after the sun rose? Why did she totally space that out? "I forgot, Giles!"

As he tugged her over to him and held her to his chest, Willow cried into his jacket—taking comfort in the scent of the man who was more of her parent than the two people who attempted to raise her. "I know, Willow, I forgot too. He was counting on us to be too upset to remember."

"He wants to hurt me, Giles. I can feel it."

And she could feel it. It was like an insidious virus sweeping through her body—cloying at her self as it attempted to invade her soul with its blackness. Shuddering, she buried her head in his chest as she tried to get a hold of her rampant emotions. 

"I just don't get it," Richie said softly as he squeezed her free hand. "I mean, why is he so determined to kill Willow? From what Spike said, drinking from Mike didn't change him that much."

Giles let out a harsh laugh as he patted Willow's head. "Spike downplays his change—for whatever reasons. The Spike that we met eight, nine years ago could have cared less whom he killed or why he did it. He was, at one time, considered one of the deadliest vampires to roam the Earth...leaving corpses and chaos behind him wherever he went." Giles took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. "He tried wiping out humanity himself by putting together a demon whose sole purpose was to destroy man."

Willow felt herself being drawn into the conversation and sat up to wipe her face clean of tears. Something else to focus on—something other than Angelus and Angel. Inwardly flinching at even the thought of him, she took a deep breath and pushed the vampire who held her heart out of her mind. After she leaned back against the back of the seat, she turned to Richie, who was sitting on the other side of her. "Don't get Giles wrong. Spike has always been different from other vampires—he could always love. That in itself made him an anomaly among demons." She paused for a moment, and found herself smiling despite herself. Spike always was a contrary being—as a demon-vamp or as a Souled-One. "With Spike, it didn't occur to him until after the demon zapped one of his minions and was nearly sent to hell himself that Spike had a bit too much humanity in himself as well."

"Well yes, it was definitely short-sighted of him," Giles added. "Spike's change—his disgust of all things prophetic and mystical was most likely a result of being a victim of Angelus' unwanted attentions for all those months after Angel lost his soul."

"And being stuck in a wheelchair for five months," Amy added.

"And Dru leaving him," Oz said, adding his two-bits into the conversation. 

"If he hadn't met Mike when he did, most likely he would've eventually gotten bored with St. Louis and the Souled-Ones and would've left—reverting back to his old ways."

"Spike's soul is what kept him from being the Spike we all feared. Nothing else," Willow added.

"So, to answer your question, yes. Angelus' fears are well founded. He knows he will be stymied just as Spike was if he allows himself to succumb to his bloodlust with Willow."

Willow watched as Richie groaned, rubbing his face tiredly. "I'm almost sorry I asked," he whispered. 

She couldn't help but agree with him.

* * *

"Mike?" Spike called out as his knuckles rapped on the door.

"Come on in, Spike." She called out as she sunk into the water, feeling oddly shy even with Spike, even after their time together. 

She watched as the door opened and he stuck his head in, grinning at her. "Giles called. He needs you to move Buffy's car out of the garage and keep the door open. They had a run-in with the prick. We forgot about the spell."

Mike felt a pang of regret, knowing that if she had been a little less emotional earlier, she would've remembered that little tidbit as well. "Is she okay?"

Spike walked into the room and kneeled down by the tub. His fingers reached over and caught a water drop as it began to roll down her face as he gave her a sad smile. "Yeah, physically. Emotionally, I don't know."

She leaned into his touch and sighed softly. "Thanks for what you did. It's funny, after all these years of going through this, I still don't know quite why it works. It's like being re-booted." She snorted, her eyes closing at the image of her as a computer. "I guess my operating system got overloaded."

Spike chuckled as he leaned over the edge of the tub and kissed her gently on the lips. "The analogies you come up with...mind boggling." He stood up and grabbed a towel. "Done with everything?" He asked, his eyes traveling lavishly over her body.

"If you mean, am I done cleaning up, yes? Anything else is up for discussion," she said as she stood up, her shyness forgotten under the need to get underneath Spike's skin.

He held out the towel and she backed into it, letting him wrap her wet body with his embrace. Once he fastened it, his arms tugged on her waist, pulling her back flush with his front. She could feel his smile as he nibbled on her neck, his lips sending little coils of need throughout her body. 

After kissing her neck, he placed his chin on her shoulder. She could feel his chest rise once and the cool breeze of his breath touched her bare skin. If their link hadn't told him how aroused she suddenly was, she was sure he had just smelt it. "I'm an asshole, aren't I?"

Shaking her head, she pulled away from him enough to turn around. Once facing him, she kissed him soundly on the lips and grinned back at him. _Yeah, but I love ya anyway,_ she whispered into his mind.

His smile disappeared as his dark eyes pierced hers and she felt the tendrils of his touch in her mind. _And, no matter what—I'll always love you._

Somehow those words—said without the pain and angst of the night before or the intimacy of earlier that day—touched a part of her that had been hiding in wait since she had left him, six years before. It was almost as if, finally, everything fell into place with her life. She had been drifting aimlessly, hanging on to Vachon for fear that she would just disappear under the waves of need and want of what she couldn't have, if she let the Spaniard go.

Gods, it felt so good just be herself.

Smiling through her tears, she pulled out of his arms and left the bathroom, with Spike right behind her.

It was time to get back to living...something she almost forgot how to do.

_to be continued..._


	12. Default Chapter Title

## A Serendipitous Beginning

#### by  
Lisa Y. Drexel  
Chapter Ten

~~~~~~~~~

A time to be

~~~~~~~~~

* * *

"Well, we managed to get most everything done," Giles said as he looked up from his cup of tea and met the oldest Immortal's curious gaze. "Joyce called Hank, Buffy's father, and he's driving in from LA tonight. We're to meet him at the house in a couple of hours."

"How's he taking it?" Spike asked, sitting down next to the elder watcher. 

Giles shrugged as his eyes shut. "A lot better than he would have if he hadn't found out about her calling," Giles said grimly as his mind flashed back to five years ago when the slayer's father had been abducted by a group of ambitious vampires who wanted to get back at the slayer. In that one weekend during his kidnapping, Hank Summers received not only a crash course in all things demonic, but had the singular pleasure of seeing his daughter, as well as her former and present vampire lovers in action as they rescued him. Never again did the slayer's father take his daughter's love for granted, knowing that she had such a finite amount of time to live.

As Joyce would say, it was nice to see that the man finally gained some sense, even if it was over five years too late.

"And everyone's houses? Are they protected?" Vachon asked, sipping at his ever-present glass of bloodwine. As Giles watched the red, thick liquid sloshing about in the glass, it suddenly occurred to him how uncomfortable the vampire had to be, surrounded by so many humans and yet unable to feed off any of them. _No wonder he wants us gone,_ thought Giles as he nodded. "Every place except Angel and Willow's apartment. Angelus' impromptu visit prevented us from doing what was necessary there."

Spike shrugged and looked over at MacLeod. "She was going to stay here anyway. That was already decided."

"Until she can protect herself, she's better off with as many of us as possible," the Scottish Immortal added. "If Morden comes around, we can issue a challenge before he sets his eyes on her."

"So, what are we going to do?" Spike asked, leaning back against the chair. He shook out a cigarette and glanced back at both the closed sliding doors before slipping it between his lips. He turned to Vachon and nodded at the back kitchen door. "Can you switch the fan on, mate, so I can smoke?"

Smirking, the other vampire did so, and suddenly the low-level rumbling of the fan filled the air.

"I mean, how the hell are we going to get the prick where we need him?"

Giles took another sip of his lukewarm tea and shook his head. "I don't know, Spike." He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "I called Wesley, Faith's watcher, and they're flying in tomorrow so she can take up patrolling and whatnot. Maybe a fresh mind can come up with a plan. I can't seem to think past what happened last night to beof any use whatsoever," Giles admitted, feeling the weight of Buffy's death. Shaking his head as if to clear his mind, he looked over everyone's head and stared out the dark kitchen windows, seeing nothing as he thought about what he had just said. "But whatever we do, it'll have to wait until after the funeral. We all need this time...time to just be."

And for the next three days, that's what the Scooby Gang did...took time to just be.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

_Time to just be..._

The words Giles had softly spoken in the kitchen seemed to haunt Spike, until he finally managed to get some time by himself.

Mike, still drained by not only the link but also from lack of sleep, had fallen asleep in the living room in the middle of a heated discussion between the remaining houseguests on different ways to get Angelus where they needed him to be. No one but Spike even noticed it, until the Scot asked her direct question and got a soft snore in response. 

Four pairs of eyes stared at her incredulously, while Spike chuckled softly, admiring her innocent beauty as she slept—just as he had been for the last five minutes.

Finally deciding that it was indeed time for her to go to bed, he snickered quietly as he lifted her limp body into his arms and disappeared into the bedroom. Once in the privacy of their own room—the same room that had been Buffy and his, and even before that, Mike and his—he slowly divested Mike of her clothing and slipped her underneath the mound of blankets that covered the bed. Leaning against the bedroom door, he stood there and watched the steady cadence of her breath and sighed to himself when he felt the all-to-familiar stab of sorrow filling his heart as the link hold on his emotions lessened. He had noticed the beginnings of it while he had been in the living room and as her sleep deepened, his emotions became more and more his own—leaving him to feel the harsh pain of Buffy's death that he had been spared since Mike's return in his life.

_Time to just be..._

Taking the watcher's words to heart, he left the bedroom and stepped out the backdoor and flew up into the air—not really knowing where he was going until he got there. 

It wasn't until his feet touched the ground, did he realize where he had gone—Shady Oaks Cemetery. The place where he had kissed the slayer the first time. The place where he had finally allowed himself to show his feelings to this strange warrior-woman-child that had somehow stolen his heart in the past year and a half. 

He sat down on the ground, leaning against the same headstone that he had six years before as he watched her pace frantically in front of him while she dealt with her own feelings towards him. Once comfortable, he lit a cigarette and found himself taken back in time as the memories of Buffy and his time together began to surface. 

Although he had known, via Mike, that Buffy had loved him as well, he also had known that she had nearly as difficult a time accepting her feelings towards him as he had towards her.

What a quandary they had been in back then. How does one fall in love with one's mortal enemy? Although they weren't on opposite sides anymore, there was just something about their relationship that always grated on one another's nerves. A kind of confrontational approach to one another. It was so different from the way he had shown Dru his love or even from the way he loved Mike. 

When he had been in love with Dru, it was almost reminiscent of an incestuous love. There were so many different roles he played when he was with his Dark Princess: protector, lover, caretaker, father, brother. Sometimes he wondered what the hell he had really meant to her. Did she love him like he loved her? With Dru, he never knew. At least, he never knew for sure. For years...nearly a hundred years, he believed that she loved him. But then Angelus returned and with that, her love seemed to disappear as if it had meant nothing to her. Almost as if he were a rest stop or something of the sort, until her 'daddy' came home.

With Mike, their love was like a cool salve that healed all his wounds...a kind of acceptance that he had never experienced...even in his mortal life. She was a gentle breeze in his demon soul, and later on, his human one. She lit up all the dark spots in his mind and took him into herself...body and soul...washing them free of his past sins. She made him laugh; she taught him how to love, and with her in his life, he knew he would never be alone again.

With Buffy, it was a challenge...always a struggle to be better, to make him a better person...to make the relationship flourish. And yet he reveled in that challenge...feeling so alive when he basked in her love.

_She was like a shooting star,_ Spike thought to himself, grimacing at how Nancy-boyish that sounded. She lit up his world...forced him to be a better vampire...and disappeared in a showery display of lights...leaving only the memory of her love.

Gods, he missed her. He missed her quirky sense of humor. Her deluge of quips—at hand at every crisis or event. He even missed the slayer part of her...the way she took charge...battled ferociously for what she believed in. He missed her half-smile that curled her lips when he did something that pleased her.

He missed her.

And, he decided, it was nice to feel that, for a change.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

In the past, Giles had always dreaded dealing with Hank Summers.

He was an arrogant ass who, until he found out about Buffy's calling, had allowed his daughter to slip out of his life, believing that a few, well-placed gifts would suffice in his stead.

And later on, once he learned of Buffy's fate, he became the type of parent of whom the council had warned its Watchers: overbearing, interfering and whiny. 

Fortunately, that only lasted until Joyce gave him what she called, the 'what-how.'

But now, as Giles spied on the broken man who sat before him, all that anger and resentment that had been building for years just disappeared. The watcher finally realized the man truly loved his daughter but didn't know how to do so properly.

And why should he?

To love and accept a slayer, one had to accept all the qualities that came with her calling. The appearance of violence...the strong will. The take-charge attitude...all the things that Buffy had that made her such a successful and long-lived slayer.

And all the things that drove her parents to the brink when their daughter was growing up.

As Hank sat on the couch, his face cradled in his hands, Giles couldn't help but feel for the man. All those years wasted, because he hadn't known of her fate. While Hank was struggling with the guilt and anger of his 'juvenile-delinquent' daughter, she was, in reality, just saving the world.

How horrid that must be for a parent.

No wonder the council tried to remove the girls from their homes before they were called. No parent should have to suffer through this.

"There was nothing _**he**_ could do?" Hank asked, still unable to speak Spike's name. Even after six years, Buffy's father had a hard time accepting Spike's role in Buffy's life. Hank had first seen Spike as a social-reject and a hoodlum who had somehow stolen his daughter's heart and repeatedly demanded that Buffy to leave the younger man. And of course, things didn't improve when Hand discovered that Spike was indeed a vampire...a two-hundred-year-old vampire...the very same being that Buffy had been destined to kill.

The entire relationship did not sit well with Hank. Although Joyce and Giles had managed to calm him down some, Hank's general distrust and distaste for Spike never faltered. The elder Summers just learned to silence his feelings around his daughter and the vampire.

"No, not a thing," Giles said. "Xander and Cordelia confirmed it. Everything happened within seconds of each other. Buffy's death, Angel losing his soul...Willow."

"The Tet offensive," Hank whispered, more to himself than to Giles.

"What, Hank?" Joyce asked.

Hank frowned and met Giles' curious gaze. "Did you know that I was in 'Nam? Only for about six months. Right before the Fall of Saigon. But I talked to some older soldiers, who were around during that time...and this just reminded me of the Tet Offensive. Attack your enemy when you least expect it...attack them on multiply fronts and take as many casualties as possible in the shortest amount of time."

Stunned at the other man's insightfulness, Giles could only nod in agreement. _How astute,_ he thought to himself. _I wonder what other surprises this man has hidden underneath his arrogance?_

Finally, Giles cleared his throat and looked out the living room window into the darkness. "Well, yes...it was definitely a planned assault. And yet, there had been no signs that it was going to come to pass. A slayer's death—especially one as strong and as long-lived as your daughter—should've had a prophecy attached to it. Yet, there was nothing," Giles whispered, fighting that hopeless anger that suddenly filled him. He failed her...failed her calling and his...

A warm hand clutched his, tugging him out of his guilt. "Rupert, don't," Joyce said quietly. She dropped his hand and stood up. After walking over to the window, she sighed—her breath catching with obvious sorrow. "Hank, she lived this long...she was twenty-four years old. She saved the world so many times that it's almost redundant to even discuss it. This was her fate...the moment she was born. The moment she was conceived...that warm May night that we made love underneath the stars. There was nothing anyone could do. She even died once already—beat her fate to live another eight years."

"But Joyce, she was our daughter...our baby—"

She nodded to her ex-husband as she wiped an errant tear that trailed down her face. "That she was. But I do know that you can't blame anyone other than God himself for this. And even that seems a bit presumptuous. Spike did everything inhumanly possible...but he, like the rest of us, was helpless to stop it. That he managed, in his broken state-of-mind, to save Willow from a true death is a miracle. That he's here now, ready to bring Angel home, protect Willow and bring those bastards who did this to our daughter, to their knees, should be enough for you." She lifted her eyes and faced him. "It is for me," Joyce added softly.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Where are you?" Oz asked, sitting down next to the blond witch.

Amy gave him a small smile and shrugged. "Just thinking," she said as she hugged her legs close to her chest. 

"You know, it's not safe out here," Oz said as he extended his preternatural senses around the backyard—checking to see if they had any unwanted guests.

Amy rested her head on his shoulder and nodded slowly. "I know, that's why I did a perimeter-protection spell to warn me of any visitors—alive or undead."

Oz chuckled softly. "Always prepared."

She nodded again. "Most of the time," she said. "It's so quiet."

"It's late."

"No, not that kind of quiet. Quiet, energy-wise. Buffy was like a beacon on the Hellmouth—her life-energy filled the darkness—singing so loudly against the evil that sometimes all you ever heard, was her song. It's so quiet now." # that's beautiful!

Oz felt that familiar catch in his chest and shuddered in response. Buffy had been such a godsend to him. She accepted the wolf—kept him as well as the rest of the population safe when he changed. She was supportive when he left in search of a way to control the wolf and welcomed him back home when he failed to find the answers he so desperately needed.

Months later, Amy and Willow found a spell that gave him the power to control the beast inside of him. And so after that, he finally let himself fall in love with Amy—another witch that stole his heart.

He never regretted it.

And now, years later, he had everything that he ever wanted or desired. Amy's love, his music...a place to call home and friends to fill his heart. 

After all these years together, to lose one of those same friends, was almost as if he lost a limb. Years had passed since Ms. Calendar had died, and even then, he wasn't a real member of the Scooby Gang until his senior year, so her death didn't affect him like it had Willow, Xander, Buffy and Giles. Although logically he knew they weren't indestructible, he had begun to believe otherwise.

Buffy's death reminded him all over again, how fragile life was, even for the strongest of them.

"I miss her too," he said as scooted behind her and wrapped his arms around hers. Resting his chin on her shoulder, he closed his eyes and found himself replaying what had happened at the Bronze the night before. That sickening crack that rang through the club as Buffy's head hit the wall...it would haunt him till the day he died. 

"I'm worried about Willow too," Amy said. "She's so out-of-sorts now."

"I know," he said, remembering the horror on her face when she realized that Buffy was dead and Angel had lost his soul. "She lost her best friends, babe. Her and Angel were inseparable. And since Willow had been fifteen, Buffy had been the driving force in her life. Almost every major decision she had made or action she had taken, had been for Buffy." 

Amy chuckled ruefully. "Can't the same be said for Xander? And Giles?"

"Yeah, it can. And that's why we need to take care of them. Cordelia too. As much as she would deny it, Cordelia's been there since the beginning as well."

She nodded in agreement as she leaned her head back against his shoulder to stare up into the star-lit sky. After nearly five minutes of silence, she bit her bottom lip nervously and turned to him. "I want a baby. After last night, I realized that we need to continue. Buffy didn't get that chance. No child for her to give a part of herself to. I don't want to see us...everything that makes me _me_ and makes you, _you_ die at the end of some demon-vamps fangs. I don't want that. I need to pass on my gift."

Although Oz had similar thoughts, especially after hearing of Cordelia's pregnancy, he tried pushing it away...afraid of passing on the wolf. Afraid that Amy wouldn't want a child with him.

"With me?" he asked, trepidation filling his voice and body.

"Of course, silly. With you," she said, kissing him softly on the cheek. "Only with you."

"What about the wolf?"

She shrugged nonchalantly, obviously not bothered by the thought. "We'll deal. Just like your aunt and uncle did with your cousin Jordy. And the way your grandparents did with your uncle. And who knows, it might not get passed on this time around. It wasn't to you, your mother or your grandfather. You just got bit."

Oz found himself releasing his breath, not even realizing he had been holding it until he felt his body relax. She was right. Like always.

Like his Amy.

"Alright. Let's do it."

Grinning, she whipped around and settled down on his lap, with her legs around his waist and her arms clasped around his neck. After kissing him long and hard on his lips, Oz let his body drop and minutes later, they were making love underneath the stars in the protective circle of their backyard.

Moments like these were what life was about. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Are you okay?" Cordelia asked as she laid her head on his bare chest. 

Xander snorted humorlessly as his fingers lightly danced across her back. "As well as is to be expected," he whispered. "Happy about the baby.... sad about Buffy. Still angry at Spike. Furious at God. Lost...worried...nervous, anxious..."

Cordy chuckled softly even as her eyes filled with tears. _How true,_ she thought to herself. _He just listed every emotion that I'm feeling as well._ "Me too," she whispered. "I remember when I found out about all the things that go bump in the night. I was so self-involved, that at first I was just shocked that something this evil had the audacity to interfere with **_my_** life."

"I remember the old Cordy...of the Cordettes. You were such a bitch," Xander said, laughing softly. "And yet, so brave. Every time I thought you were going to let us down...knew for sure that you were going to let us down...you surprised me. I fell in love with that bitch who knew herself like no one else. Who told the world what they needed to hear, whether or not they wanted to."

"Well, loser-boy, you weren't too much of a prize either!" she said haughtily. "But even then, your courage and determination to do what needed to be done tugged at my heart. Underneath those horrid clothes and dorky jokes was a young man who had more courage than most adults ever dreamt of. I was in love with you before I even realized it. Every time I went out with some jock or cool guy, I always found myself wondering if they would be able to defend me against vampires or demons, like you could."

She lifted her head and leaned up to kiss him chastely on the lips. "Before I even knew I needed a hero, you were mine," she whispered against his mouth. 

"Thank you," he said softly before hiding his face in her hair. "I miss her," he said. "Do you hate me for that?"

Her eyes filled with tears as she shook her head no. "No Xander, of course not. I miss her too."

His chest began to shake as his quiet sobs filled the room. Cordelia held her husband, wishing that her love could heal the emptiness she heard in his voice.

The same emptiness she herself felt.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

For Willow, the next three days passed in a flurry of activity, leaving the youngest Immortal in the household not only mentally and emotionally exhausted, but physically as well. 

From the moment Oz had pulled his van into Spike's garage, she felt like she had been going non-stop and on automatic. Once they all stumbled inside, cursing her lover's alter-self and their own stupidity, the group set about packing up their things and putting Spike's house into some sort of order.

Much to Richie's delight, Willow had already taken fencing classes in college, following her innate interest in the sport. Although she had no idea how opportune those lessons would later on be, she found herself drawn to the beauty of the dance of sword-fighters after having spied on a practice session between Vachon and Mike four years before when Willow and Angel had gone to St. Louis to visit the Immortal.

After coming home, she made it a point to take a beginner's class and much to her delight, found that she had a natural aptitude for swinging the deadly blade. It wasn't until after that first practice session with Richie, that it occurred to ask if what had happened to her was normal. 

Richie, who was wiping his sweat-soaked face with a hand towel, shrugged at her question, grinning impetuously. "Yeah, it's normal. I remember begging Mac to teach me fencing after I watched him fight a challenge. I didn't understand those feelings inside that I had...that need to do something...to hold a blade in my hand. It was just there. Mac grinned at me and told me to sign up for a class at the community college, where I could learn proper fencing."

After taking a big swig of cold water, Willow looked up at him. "Did you do it? Take the class?"

Richie frowned, shaking his head. "No, never had a chance. Life got in the way, and suddenly we were in Paris and the opportunity slipped by. And it wasn't too long after we got back to Seacouver, that it became a moot point."

"Why?"  


His face darkened as he lifted his head to meet her interested gaze. "I died. Tessa, Mac's love of his long life and I were shot by a crack addict. She stayed dead and I didn't."

Willow felt her eyes tear up as she thought about the similarities of his First Death and hers. Richie and her both lost someone they loved on the last night of the mortal lives. Someone who was fated to die and stay dead, whereas they both were forced to continue in this crazy, preternatural existence.

"It's just not fair," she whispered to herself, not even realizing that she had spoken out loud until she felt her mentor's arm pull her into a comforting hug.

"No, it's not fair. It's life. You, out of nearly everyone, know this, if you really think about it, Willow. You've spent the last nine, ten years, risking your life to fight the kind of evil that I never imagined even existed until I met Spike. Takes a brave soul to do what you've done," he said as he rubbed her sweat-soaked head.

Her heart, which seemed only to be held together by the weakest of bonds, seemed to crack apart once again as a wave of pain crashed through her. Ever since she had revived in Spike's spare bedroom, she had forced most of that pain she felt down deep inside in order to remain strong...for Spike, for herself, and now it seemed, it was time for it to come out.

Richie seemed to expect this and said nothing as he gently lifted her small body into his arms and walked over to the sofa-bed where Vachon spent his sleeping hours, and sat down, with his legs extended. 

Although Willow was only peripherally aware of Richie's movements, she let it go, reveling in the warm, almost parental comforting Richie's arms provided. It had been so long since her adopted parents ever showed this kind of love and concern for her, that she had nearly forgotten what it was like to be held like that.

Only Giles, and yes, later on Joyce, ever showed this kind of love towards her and she found she was sorely missing it. _It's funny how you never realize what you're missing until you've got it again,_ she thought to herself as she burrowed her face in his dampened shirt.

Richie seemed to understand this need of hers, and it wasn't until later that she discovered why: he too was bereft of parental love most of his life until Mac and Tessa came into his life. The Immortal and the artist did for him, what Giles had done for her.

It appeared that Willow and her mentor, had more in common than she had ever believed before. _Just another serendipitous moment in my life,_ she thought to herself as she drifted off to sleep. _My life seems to be full of them._

to be continued...


	13. Default Chapter Title

## A Serendipitous Beginning

#### by  
Lisa Y. Drexel  
Chapter Eleven

~~~~~~~~~

And there goes that plan...

~~~~~~~~~

* * *

**Two nights before Buffy's funeral**

Even as Angelus could feel himself doing it, he was powerless to stop it. A part of himself raged against it—mentally slamming his fists against his thoughts—anything to stop where they were taking him.

He was brooding.

Actually brooding.

_God damn soul has tainted everything!_ he thought to himself as he began to pace the room he had been staying in for the past day.

How did this happen?

He was not the wimp that had possession of his body for so long as he, the demon, was forced to watch travesty that his soul bestowed on him. Using the demon—its strength and reputation—its characteristics—to fight the good fight.

It was sickening.

And yet, here he was doing exactly what his souled counterpart did for nearly a hundred years: brood in a dark dank room—ignoring the pleasures that being a vampire could give him.

This is what he feared the last time—that somehow his soul's goodness had tainted his demon. By forcing his demon to participate, however unintentionally, with all those sickening acts of goodness, that his demon had been corrupted by his soul.

And in retrospect, the last time he had been in control, his actions were far from beneficial in regards to living long, healthy unlife. Not even Angelus could deny that attempting to suck the world into Hell wasn't an intelligent thing to do. If he had only just killed the slayer bitch when he had the chance, none of this would've been an issue now. With the Buffy dead, everything else would've fallen into place. 

One, Spike wouldn't have betrayed him.. 

_Well, maybe not,_ Angelus silently admitted. He did torment his childe nearly as much as he did the slayer. By toying with Spike for as long and harsh as Angelus had that spring all those years ago, the elder vampire pretty much guaranteed Spike's defection. And after that, everything else that happened was happenstance. It was like a row of dominos—knock one down, and the rest soon followed.

If Dru hadn't deserted Spike in Oklahoma, then Spike wouldn't have gone searching for the nearest group of Souled-Ones, which was in St. Louis. And if Spike hadn't been in St. Louis during that time, he wouldn't have met Mike Evans—the blond Immortal that stole his childe's heart and loyalty. And if Spike hadn't met Mike, he wouldn't have drunk from her—discovering the magic elixir that was Immortal's blood—eventually changing his childe from a demon-vamp into a Souled One himself.

And Willow—most likely she would be dead by now.

Or would she be? Would Angelus have known what an Immortal was if he hadn't had to deal with Spike, Mike and the rest of those Immortals for the past six years? 

Growling under his breath, he flopped down in the chair by the window and nearly laughed out loud at where his thoughts were taking him.

He was doing it again—brooding.

What was he going to do? If Morden's plan didn't work, Angelus was screwed. He knew, even if he never spoke of it out loud, that there was no way he could stay away from Willow. She either had to die, or he would die...

No more Angelus...just Angel with a soul, and all those wonderful little benefits that came with being a Souled-One. 

Angelus could feel her, even now, miles away from her—her being tugging at his demon—the need and want to be with her—taste that delicious, endless supply of blood...What was it that his childe said? Something about the blood of an Immortal being so rich and so alive that Spike knew that after that first sip, that if he could drink from her for the rest of his unlife, he'd never hunt again.

And with Morden around, Angelus was tempted just to tackle the fucker down and drink from him—to find out for himself what the hell the big deal was.

But, if the vampire found himself bound to Morden until the end of time, he would just throw in the towel. One, the fucker didn't even belong in this time. What would happen to Angelus if Morden left? Or for that fact, what would happen to Morden? That's the only reason why Dru hadn't fed from her lover...in her madness she somehow understood the ramifications towards her that feeding from her Immortal would bring her. How she managed to not give in to that urge that was nearly driving Angelus into madness, he didn't know.

"But whatever it is, she should bottle it and sell it. She could make a mint," he muttered to himself as he felt his senses begin to stir. Seconds later, his bedroom door opened and in walked Drusilla, with Morden right behind her.

Giggling, she twirled around, her hands out wide as she stared up into the ceiling. "My Angel," she whispered, stopping to look over at him.

Angelus couldn't help but smile back at her. She was so beautiful—his creation. More than any childe he brought across, he made Drusilla what she was...forged her madness in the blood of her family and friends...

"Dru," he whispered as he stood up and walked over to her. After placing his hands on her shoulders, stilling her, he met her mesmerizing stare with his own. "You have any good news for me?"

Grinning slyly, she leaned over and pecked him daintily on the lips before turning around in his arms to face Morden. "My pet has found a spell...an Immortal spell...it will make all those awful Immortals speak to the stars—listening to the whispers inside of them...making them weak so we can play..."

Angelus' eyebrow arched as he met Morden's eyes, noting the smug smirk that was curling his lips. "Meaning?" Angelus asked.

"It's a Quickening spell...you do understand what a Quickening is, don't you?"

Angelus rolled his eyes impatiently. "It's like Immortal's souls—but with power."

"That's a simplification, but apt nonetheless. When an Immortal beheads another, he absorbs all the power that his opponent has. The memories, personalities—good or bad—are incorporated into the victor's Quickening," Morden explained as he gently pulled out of Dru's arms. He began walking around the room, studying the décor with little interest as he appeared to be gathering his thoughts. "Most Immortals have no problem assimilating these personalities into themselves. Usually their opponents have already suppressed whatever tendencies that were inside of him that were not their own, so the winner only has to tackle one Quickening. This spell fragments the Quickening—making all those personalities more viable—more real. It should pretty much drive a person mad. Easily. And fortunately for us, my sources have told me that Duncan MacLeod has come here to help everyone else out. MacLeod is the only living survivor of a Dark Quickening."

"Dark Quickening...it sounds familiar, but what is it?"

Dru suddenly turned on her heel and faced Angelus, laughing. "All that darkness inside of them—curls up and strikes! Like a snake and bites...snap...snap...snap...and takes over—bringing death and blood wherever he goes..."

"Really?" Angelus asked, finding himself grinning. "So, if we do this spell, we'll have four Immortals running around—crazy—with an evil MacLeod in the mix?"

"Two, maybe three Immortals crazy. Mike, Ryan and MacLeod have all taken heads, so their Quickenings are filled with other voices. Willow, on the other hand, will be impervious to the spell, because she's still clean—so to speak."

"What about Ryan? How many heads has he taken?"

"Not nearly as many as MacLeod—of course—because the kid is young. But he has defeated some older Immortals—which means he's got a pretty powerful Quickening for someone as young as he is."

"And Evans? What about her?"

"She's the unknown in the equation. She's been pretty busy the last six years, but she's mostly fought the younger crowd. She's only killed one Immortal that was worth anything...Mughal. He was over 600 years old and a headhunter. She also has that link to both of the vampires—Spike and the Spaniard—they may be able to help her keep it together. And finally, she may not be strong in the same sense as Ryan and MacLeod, but there's something different about her. Her ability to read Quickenings gives her an edge that most of us don't have."

Angelus nodded slowly. "Well, it's a start. And if we can get rid of some the do-gooders, we can get on with the plan."

"I agree."  
  
"So, we can we get started?"

"By the time the funeral happens, everything will be in its place. I've finally managed to procure a few spellcasters to help us out and they should be here within a day or so."

"Good, I can't wait to see the fireworks."

"It'll be so pretty, my Angel," Dru whispered sensually.

"Yeah, it sure will, Dru."

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The night of Buffy's funeral

Richie wasn't sure how long he had laid there in bed, before sleep finally claimed him. Although he wouldn't dare speak of it, he was more than a bit nervous about Willow. As strong as she was mentally and magically, she had very little physical strength to work with. 

And after three days, his fears hadn't lessened. 

If anything, they had only gotten worse.

_How could someone so small and petite survive in the Game?_ he asked himself for the thousandth time. From where Richie stood, it seemed nearly impossible. No matter how quick or agile Willow was, it didn't give her the edge she needed to win a duel. The streetfighter in Richie was tempted to teach her how to win, no matter what the consequences. If he taught her to use whatever advantages she already possessed, Willow might have a chance to live through the next century. But if he didn't, Richie doubted if she would survive her first year outside the protective shield the Hellmouth provided. 

A part of him wanted to believe that he was being a bit dramatic about the situation, but deep down inside, Richie knew different. 

And so did Vachon. He caught the pained look on Vachon's face as the vampire watched the youngest Immortal struggle with her sword. Even if Willow spent eight hours a day just working on her upper-body strength, Richie doubted if it would do any good in the long run. There was only so much she could work with...if she didn't have the strong physique necessary to win, she wouldn't win—no matter how many prayers all them whispered. 

So, Richie's choices were limited.

He could teach her how to win, or he could teach her how to fight.

If he did the latter, she would most likely meet her death in less than a decade. If he did former, Richie may just lose whatever respect he had managed to garner from Mac after nearly fifteen years of struggle.

Gods, Richie missed the Old Man. Methos would know what to do, how to do it, and would have no moral compunctions about Richie teaching Willow more unsavory methods to guarantee her survival. There would be no condemnations uttered underneath his breath—no pained silences achingly reminding the two of a time before when they were close. Just a type of acceptance—and maybe even pride—in knowing that Richie had done everything he could possibly to do to guarantee the survival of his student.

And Willow deserved to live.

She had a life—she was in love with someone whom she could live with for centuries—someone who was as immortal as she was. And the good that she could do...

When Richie thought of all her accomplishments in the just the few short years she had been mortal, it blew him away. This young woman had already been so entrenched in a battle for the good of all—that Richie innately knew that the Powers would shudder at the loss if she were to die. 

The thought of letting this jewel die nearly tore at Richie's heart...he couldn't...and yet, what kind of person would he be helping to mould if he taught Willow how to cheat? Would she become the very same type of person that she had been battling against all these years? Would she lose that goodness that seemed so innate in her soul that you could see it with every act she performed, every time she took a head?

Groaning softly, he rolled over on his stomach and hugged his pillow. God, he hoped not. But what difference did it make if she was going to die in the next few years? Everything would be lost anyway.

_Great. A moral quandary,_ he thought to himself, shuddering uncontrollably. He was so far over his head in this, Richie wondered why he hadn't drowned yet. This was a debate better made for Immortals ten times his age—not him, who had yet to celebrate his 32nd birthday. Granted, he had been Immortal for nearly thirteen years; had seen more than most Immortals well into their second century of life; and had taken far too many heads for such a young one—but still, Richie Ryan knew his limitations. He was a 32-year-old struggling young Immortal who had bit off more than he could chew.

_Maybe Vachon could help,_ he thought to himself and then nearly snorted out loud at how outlandish that thought would have been if Richie hadn't been in the situation he was: asking a vampire to help teach an Immortal how to survive...

"One for the history books," he whispered to himself as he turned his head and stared out across the room, watching Mac sleep restlessly on his own bed. 

Finally closing his eyes, Richie let out a huge yawn, feeling every bit of his age as the exhaustion of the past three days claimed him.

It was hard to believe that less than a week ago he had been sitting at Joe's with Mike and Vachon—arguing about whether Jim Morrison was a vampire or not, and just plain enjoying himself with his two friends. It had been three days since he and Mac had arrived in Sunnydale—and other than slipping off to sleep for a mere few hours every night, Richie had barely any downtime to call his own. Be it worrying or training Willow—arguing with Mac about the right way to train her—protecting the human members of the Sunnydale crowd—patrolling Sunnydale with either Spike or Vachon, Richie had been on the go constantly, and his exhaustion proved it.

And that wasn't even including the emotional stress that he, and everyone else, had been under for the past few days. Between worrying about Mike, Spike, Willow, Angelus, Morden and Dru, and finally mourning Buffy's passing, it was just too much.

Just too much , he silently repeated, flashing back to the events that occurred earlier that night...seeing the clump of dirt as it hit the slayer's coffin...hearing Spike's soft growl of denial...Mike's normally open face, closed off and strained...Willow's constrained sobs...Giles' silent shaking...

Just too much...

~~~~~~~~~~~~

  
Quickenings were strange things, Willow decided as she ran the sharp edge of the knife across the taut skin of her forearm. Hissing softly, she watched as a thin line of blood well up through the split skin only to be followed a minute later by flickering blue lightening—weaving in and out of the wound...healing it.

Noting the tingling that accompanied the lightning, she leaned over, grabbed her pen with her uninjured hand and began scribbling her observations down.

After nearly five minutes, she looked up from her notebook and saw that her wound had healed.

_Amazing,_ she thought to herself. "Still human, and yet I heal better than a vampire," she said softly as she picked up the warm washcloth she had procured from Spike's bathroom not a half an hour earlier for just this, and wiped her arm clean of blood.

She did not need to wave any bleeding appendages about while staying in the same home that also housed two vampires. 

It just wasn't a healthy thing to do.

"As if slicing your arm open would point to a happy, sane kinda person, Rosenberg," she muttered, dropping her pen and notebook and letting her body fall backwards until she hit the carpeted floor underneath her. Blinking her eyes, she stared up at the ceiling, noting with the same odd detachment she had been feeling since everyone had returned from Buffy's funeral, that Spike really should hire a maid—there were enough dustbunny's residing in the corners of the room to make her cringe—and Willow was not a neat person. 

And with Mike here now, Spike's house could only get worse. The odd couple of the immortal sect were back together and that could only spell disaster for Spike's anal tendencies.

Grinning to herself, Willow found her thoughts slipping back to the past—when Mike and Spike were still together and had just moved into the very same house Willow was in now. Mike had been so excited—still reeling over the fact that the Immortal woman was in a steady enough relationship that the idea of buying a house together wasn't outrageous—much less being enough in love to make that kind of commitment.

Spike, of course, took it all in stride. He wasn't new to long-term relationships, having spent over a hundred years with Drusilla, and was intrigued at the prospect of actually buying a home as opposed to 'acquiring' one as he had done for most of his immortal life. Mike would only roll her eyes at the vampire after muttering something about 'blood money' and vampires. 

How did Mike do it? Did it ever bother the Immortal woman that she was in love with a vampire that was once known as one of the most deadliest vampires to roam the earth? Did she ever stay up at night, pondering the roles of souls and demons in a vampire's being? Did she ever question her own goodness in light of her love of a vampire?

Willow knew she did. And she was in love with Angel's soul who just happened to be residing in a body animated by a demon known to all of the preternatural world as Angelus, childe of Darla...grandchilde of the Master...

A familiar pang twisted her heart as her eyes watered. 

Goddess, she missed him. It had been three days since Angel had lost his soul again, and a part of Willow was ready to just give up.

She wasn't cut out for immortality with a capital I. Her body ached, her mind was constantly distracted by Angelus' ongoing presence in her soul...

And she was afraid. 

Afraid that she would never be strong enough to wield a sword like Richie, Mac or Mike. That she would never be able to take care of herself—be independent enough to survive in this dangerous world that had been cruelly thrust upon her—and finally that by the quirks of fate, that she would end up living whatever life she had left alone...with no Angel to hold her and tell her that he loved her...no Angel to encourage her to fight...

Just alone.

Groaning to herself at the depressing turn of her thoughts, Willow forced herself to sit up and continue her research. This was something that she could control—her education. And, she had to admit, it intrigued her—this new existence of hers. 

It was fascinating enough to Willow that it just may be impetus enough for her to fight to survive the next few weeks. As a magic practitioner as well as possessing a scientific mind, the existence of Quickenings appealed to both sides of her mind. It was like having a soul that was magnified tenfold—which in turn meant that its powers were that much stronger as well. Psychically and psychologically.

She picked up the notebook and turned the page, reading what she had written earlier...

"The only detectable thing that's changed since my First Death is the overt possession I have now of a Quickening. Amy says that she can see the Quickening in my aura—encircling my old aura with a blue-white sphere that was so bright it nearly blinded her. I then tested myself, and was surprised to find that spellcasting came a bit easier—as if the presence of the Quickening broke through the last of my magical barriers. Instead of having to reach that trance-state that I have spent the last seven years working at, this time it came easy—almost as if I were born a witch like Amy was, instead of having to work at it as I have done for all these years. Of course, I was just floating a pencil this time...who knows what will happen if I try something more difficult.

"I've also meditated a few times—searching inside of me for that change, much like the methods Buffy used to do when using all her slayer senses. I can see the Quickening in my mind's eye—pulsating with life—almost an entity in itself. Is this what it's like when you have a demon? Is this why I still have a connection to Angel even though his soul is gone? Could it be that my then latent Quickening linked itself to Angel's demon much like Mike's did with Spike's?

"That would make sense, in some weird, warped way. It would explain why I'm drawn to Angel/Angelus...why I can feel his presence—his emotions—even though my love, Angel, is gone. How this happened, I don't know. Maybe when I performed the restoration spell on him, the magics involved detected my Quickening and linked us...knowing that this link would bind him to me for lifetimes.

"Another thing I noticed when I meditated. In my altered state, I took a walk around the house in search of the other Immortals staying here. Unfortunately, I ran into Mac first and nearly ran back into the safety of my room. Not only could I see his aura—so intertwined with his Quickening that I couldn't discern the two—but the colors and emotions flying out from him almost overwhelmed me. Good, evil, happy, sad, distraught, content...all of them...with such an intensity, I couldn't help but wonder how he has survived all these years.

"But then I found Mike and Spike, sitting in the living room, watching DS9 reruns. They were laying lengthwise on the couch—he holding her in his arms—his hands clasped around her stomach—her head resting on his shoulder—their auras were nearly indistinguishable from each other—melding in and out of one another with each breathe Mike took. As I stood there, staring at the two, I tried separating them with my mind—and found it was nearly impossible. Both of them carried an incredible darkness—reminiscent of Angel's own aura—interspersed with a whole multitude of different colors and shades in a swirl of madness that I could only coin as the Quickening—with an equal amount of light that, like Mac, shone very brightly.

"I scurried out of the room in search of Richie...his aura had to be easier to read. He didn't have the years that the Scot did or the bond with another that Mike and Mac possessed, so maybe he would be the best test subject.

"I found him in the kitchen drinking a beer with Vachon, who was sipping his ever present glass of bloodwine. 

"A side-note – Souled-Ones...

"Now, Souled-Ones—like Vachon and now Spike—they're different. Especially Souled-Ones that never were demon-vamps, such as Vachon. For over 500 years, Vachon has been a member of the Undead Club, but he always had his soul. Any 'evil' that Vachon has done since he was turned, rests on his soul, not the demon—as in the case of Spike and Angel. So, in turn, in some ways, Vachon's aura is much darker than Angel's or Spike's. Although before Vachon was brought across, he was a good man from what I gathered...he wasn't a killer or rapist. Just a soldier who followed orders.

"But comparing his aura to Spike's—I could see that although Vachon had some ways to go in order to cleanse his aura—it wasn't nearly as dark as Spike's. As a human, Spike was a killer, Vachon wasn't. But as a Souled-One, Spike lived a much more pious lifestyle than the Spaniard had. Spike, having been 'evil' so-to-speak, had yet to take a human life once he had changed from being a demon-vamp to a Souled-One. Vachon, on the other hand, couldn't say the same. In the big picture of things, I know that most of those lives that Vachon took once he was brought across were for survival purposes only—but there were times when he too, played with his food. Those instances were the black marks on his aura.

"End of side-note...

"I turned my attention to Richie and let out a huge sigh of relief; I had found what I was looking for.

"With Richie, I could discern his soul from his Quickening. They were separate, but connected. His soul for the most part reminded me of Xander's. He obviously made some bad choices in his human life, but for the most part lived a good, as in an non-evil-way, life. His Quickening carried that brightness that Amy saw in mine. Although it wasn't as thick as Amy described mine to be, it did surround him—like mine does with me. The next layer—still his Quickening, but not, was that same crazy mix of colors that I saw in Mike and Mac—not nearly as manic, but it was still there. Those must be representative of the Quickenings Richie has so far acquired since becoming Immortal. And then there was his soul-aura...

"Before either of them could say anything, I left the room and returned to my bedroom to find myself staring at myself in the mirror. My brightness was much wider—purer than Richie's—but, I still possessed a bit of those colors as well...could that be my link to Angel considering I haven't taken any heads?"

Closing the notebook, Willow stood up and began gathering her supplies for another meditation session. After lighting the incense and candles, drawing her circle with sand, she sat down in the middle and began.

She needed to understand, somehow knowing that this was the answer she was looking for...

~~~~~~~~~~~~

As Spike ran his fingers through Mike's hair, he looked up at the other vampire and sighed. "Just spit it out, mate. I can see you've got something on your mind."

Vachon sighed as he stared out the picture window into the darkness. "I'm worried about Willow. And so is Richie."

Ignoring the stab of panic that clenched his undead heart, Spike waited for Vachon to continue. "Go on."

The Spaniard sighed again—this time more loudly. "She's too weak—physically—to play by the rules. Richie knows it, MacLeod ignores it—and worst of all, Willow knows it as well."

"So, we break them," Spike said with a casualness that he didn't feel. "Isn't that what Buffy did for all those years? Break the rules?"

"It's different for Immortals," Vachon said, turning around to face Spike. "They have all these stupid rules—this code of honor that they all abide by—"

"Bullshit!" Spike interrupted. "That first bloke that Mike faced—that shot me? What was his name, Mughal?"

"Yeah, Mughal. But he wasn't planning on challenging her that night when he shot you guys. He was going to use her as bait. It's a whole different story when they actually duel. One on one, no guns or extraneous weaponry...no Holy Ground...no interference..." Vachon's fangs dropped as his eyes flashed yellow. "They might as well be knights for all the supposed honor they carry. If Willow doesn't play by the rules, there's a possibility that she'll be hunted by other Immortals for doing just that.

"And yet, if she doesn't go that extra length, it doesn't make a damn bit of difference—'cause she'll be dead within a decade of her leaving Sunnydale."

Before Spike could comment, he felt Mike's body tense. His arm tightened around her as she lifted her head up from his chest, and stretched her body languidly against his. After yawning, she turned her head to look at Vachon. "Have you talked to either of them, Jav?"

He shook his head slowly. 

"I think you need to talk to Richie first. If I know him, he's already got an alternative plan up his sleeve and is just thinking of a way of pulling it off underneath Mac's interested nose."

Snorted derisively, Vachon could only shake his head. "Honor is all well and good when you're over six feet tall and have the upper body strength of a mule." His eyes changed back to brown as a pained expression crossed his face. "I remember what it's like to be smaller than most of my opponents. I learned every dirty trick I could to make sure that I would survive. That's why I loved being a vampire for so long. As long as I stayed away from those older than I, I never had to worry about anyone being stronger than I was. My strength lay in the age of my sire and myself, and nothing else."

"I hear ya," Spike said softly, instantly flashing back to those first few days he spent as a newly turned fledgling. Although Angelus was always stronger than he, Spike still reveled in the power he could wield over all those same mortals that had terrorized him as a human. William may've been a murderer and thief, but there had always been someone who was bigger and stronger than him. He lived most of his adult mortal life fighting to stay alive—against those same men.

The memory of their blood still warmed his undead heart—even with a soul.

Spike wasn't sure how long it was going to take for him to feel the guilt that he should be feeling for taking their lives. Most likely, that regret wouldn't be felt for decades to come.

Shaking his head ruefully, Spike couldn't deny the guilt he felt for not feeling guilty over that and had to just shrug it off as one of those weird ironic moments of his life. 

He felt the mental caress of Mike's as she tried soothing him, and he gently kissed her neck in response. Only she would try to comfort him for feeling bad over not feeling bad, he thought to himself as he observed Vachon nearly gliding across the room to one of chairs that sat next to the couch. 

After Vachon poured himself another glass of bloodwine, the Spaniard leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. "I hope you're right, Mike, because I like Willow. She deserves to live a full life—outside the Hellmouth's protection."

Yawning, Mike nodded her head and turned around in Spike's embrace. "He will take care of her. I'm sure, right now, he's channeling his own mental version of Methos—trying to figure out what the Old Man would do in Richie's shoes. Even if he has to risk Mac's disapproval, he'll do what's right for Willow. Richie got his own personal code of honor—a lot more palatable than Mac's is—that's why I thought he would be such a good teacher for Willow—which won't let him let her down," she finished with a whisper. 

Spike glanced down and wasn't surprised to see her eyes closed once again. He could feel her exhaustion ringing in his mind and it was all he could do not flinch in guilt over it. It was his fault, and yet he couldn't help but resent her 'human' nature as well. He needed her to be awake...it kept him sane.

If he had it his way, she would stay up for the next 48-hours—hell, make it a week, he thought ruefully--anything to keep the pain away. But obviously it wasn't going to happen. No matter how hard Spike tried keeping Mike involved in the conversation, she kept falling back to sleep. Soon, the bond would be lessened and Spike would finally have to deal with the awful realities he witnessed earlier that evening—mainly Buffy's funeral and the get-together that followed.

"Spike? Are you alright?" Vachon asked, startling the other vampire.

"She's falling asleep again," Spike whispered, gently pushing her hair off her face. "The link's hold weakens when she's asleep."

"Ah."

"Yeah, ah." Groaning to himself, Spike slipped out from underneath her sleeping body and turned her over on her back. She didn't stir until he lifted her up from the couch and began carrying her across the room.

"Spike?" she whispered, half asleep.

"Time to go to bed, love," he whispered. "I'm going to tuck you in."

She nodded, her eyes still closed as she burrowed her face even further into his neck. Before he left the room, he turned around and met Vachon's humor-filled gaze. "I'll be right back, mate," Spike told the other vampire before turning back around and heading for their bedroom.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Looking back, Mac shouldn't have been surprised that it had been Kronos that first broke through the mental bindings he had placed around the Quickenings. He was, after all, the leader of the Four Horsemen...the Immortal that possessed more presence and mental fortitude than almost anyone else that MacLeod had encountered in his 400 years.

That, plus he had the help of his 'brother', Caspian, and with the aid of the link with Methos brought about with the Double Quickening, Silas as well.

The only one missing from the little party in MacLeod's head was the Old Man himself, which in itself was not necessarily a good thing. Mac could've used some of the ancient Immortal's dry wit and wisdom about right now.

But in its stead, Mac found himself basically alone, fighting against the various voices inside his mind. After Kronos, Caspian and Silas, came Kalas, Grayson and hordes of others that MacLeod had fought through out the years—even the ghostly whispers of Ariham haunted his mind...

Koltec urging him to finally kill Richie—like he was destined to...

Kronos taunting MacLeod with thoughts of death, murder and yes, even world domination...

Caspian's lustful entries...about Mike, Willow...hell, even Richie...

Every place he ran, they followed with half-spoken promises of pleasure and power...if only he would just give in and let them have a voice...if only MacLeod would listen.

The Scot had no idea how long he fought against them, time and time again, taking their heads, when he finally lost. All it took was a wrong step, and suddenly he was the one wounded and he was the one on his knees with the sword held above his head. He looked up—needing to know whom it was going to be—that finally bested him in his mind when they couldn't in life...

And he wasn't surprised...

Kronos' scarred face sneered down at him...

The sword swung...

And that was all Duncan MacLeod remembered before he disappeared into the mist that was his mind—that he was no longer.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mike bit her bottom lip, stifling her third sigh in as many minutes, and closed her eyes—inwardly praying that sleep would come soon. She wasn't sure what it was that had woken her up—the soft murmuring of Spike's dreams or the quiet, but unsettled feel that seemed to blanket the house. Whatever it was, it was abrupt enough to rip Mike from a deep sleep into complete wakefulness.

And now, a half an hour later, she had yet to fall back to sleep.

Safely embraced in Spike's arms, she could hear the whispers of his dreams as they dribbled into her consciousness. Dozens of pictures of the blond slayer flashed through his mind into Mike's. In each one, her beautiful face was softened even more by his unconsciousness—a testament to the love he had for Buffy. Even in the one scene that broke his heart—her death—an almost ethereal light was encompassing the blond slayer as she sat propped up against the wall—her neck at an awkward angle...And then Mike would feel the sharp stab of his agony as it seared its way through his body into hers...Spike's silent screams at the gods for letting his lover die such a senseless way...

It took almost all of Mike's strength not to physically flinch at her mate's horror. Over and over again, Spike dreamt the same thing—his mind swirling in a whirlpool of madness—nearly dragging Mike down with him. And each time his mind would hit the replay button, Mike felt another bit of her self-respect dribble away.

How could anyone expect her to sleep in this house... _Buffy's house,_ her mind silently supplied...in Buffy's bed—with Buffy's love of her short life?

It was impossible.

Mike couldn't help but feel like an interloper in her home...a house that she had bought... _took two weeks to find just the right one,_ she thought to herself, feeling her mind begin babble. _Remember how excited you were when you found it? The picture window—so impractical for the home of a vampire—called to you...remember how you pleaded, cajoled and finally ended up just plain begging Spike to trust you? 'We'll order those metal blinds,' you said. 'The same ones that we ordered for the apartment. It'll be perfect,' you added seconds before you felt Spike's heart give in as he growled out a 'yes.'_

And six months later, Mike went to St. Louis—leaving the house, all the furniture that her and Spike spent another week choosing...most of her belongings that Mike had shipped from that storage bin in St. Louis that held not only her things, but her father's as well...

Left it all behind so he could start a life with Buffy...

And now, the slayer was dead.

And Mike was back—laying in her bed _Buffy and Spike's bed!_ —remembering the harsh sound of the clump of dirt as it hit the coffin hours earlier haunting her thoughts with the finality of it all... _no more Buffy..._

—attempting to slip right back into the life the Immortal left six years before.

It wasn't right.

And even as Mike thought that, she intellectually understood why things had to be done the way they had. Spike needed Mike—for the stability that the link provided—so that Spike could keep it together long enough to help capture Angelus...make sure Willow was in good hands...hold everyone together...because, if he didn't, Spike himself would lose it...and quite possibly and unknowingly hurt everyone else he cared about in the process.

_But does that mean you have to sleep with him?_ that annoying little voice inside of her piped up. _Does that give you a right to be held in his arms—to have him make sweet passionate love to you...Does that give you a right to take what's mine?_

Mike's eyes snapped open as her heart took off—fear sliding its way under her skin when she recognized the mental voice... _Buffy?_

Silence.

Never before had Mike felt such disquiet after a Quickening. But was it even a Quickening? The logical part of Mike wanted to scream out in denial for even comparing the two, and yet she couldn't seem to think of it—that essence of Buffy that had slammed into Mike in the bathroom of Joe's Place three nights before—killing her in the process—as anything else. 

Richie swore he felt it, and even went as far as describing it as a mini-Quickening...

But then Vachon insisted that he felt, for those few precious seconds, a vampiric presence.

Mike's gut was telling her that it was both. That somehow because of the amount of blood sharing that had gone on between Buffy and Spike, Spike had managed to pass on a bit of his new essence to Buffy. The same essence that made Spike a Souled-One instead of a demon-vamp. And after six years, that bit of Quickening-vampire mixture became her own—imprinted with her consciousness...

That it became Buffy—just as the Quickening that Mike possessed was hers. That somehow, that bit of self of Spike's—which was, in reality, a mixture of Mike and Spike—that he had passed on had somehow become Buffy's.

And when Buffy had died, it returned home—to Mike. Why it didn't go back to Spike, Mike had no idea. It might've helped the vampire adjust better—if he could feel a bit of Buffy's essence inside of him.

But nope, that wasn't the case. As luck would have it, it came back to the mothership—where Buffy was going to haunt Mike until the end of time.

Shaking her head, she realized that wasn't correct either. _Something's not right here,_ she thought to herself. _It hadn't always been like this,_ she reminded herself, remembering how when it had first happened, Mike could feel Buffy's presence even more distinctly than at the present, and yet never felt the type of animosity that she was presently experiencing. 

"Something's happened," the young Immortal whispered as she slid out from under Spike's arms and off the bed. 

She needed to get out of here...away from him and Buffy's ghost...Away from the guilt and mind-numbing fear that she was going to lose him... _can't lose Spike...my love...my heart...my soul...can't...can't...can't..._ and find herself again. 

That decided, Mike pulled her nightgown on over her naked body, grabbed her robe and cigarettes, and quickly left the bedroom—heading to the one person who had held her hand for all those years that she had been alone...the one person who was an expert on helping Mike find herself...Vachon.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Querida, what's wrong?" the dark-haired vampire asked as he affectionately tucked a lock of her hair behind an ear. "You're shivering," he observed, sitting up in bed as he noted her pale, drawn face. He flipped on the dim light—filling the room with a nice, warm glow—and nearly growled at how awful his nina looked in the light.

She was terrified.

_What in the hell did that asshole do to her?_ he asked himself as he pulled the young Immortal into his arms. Mike buried her face in the crook of his neck, sobbing softly—her body shaking with fear and something else...

Taking a deep, unneeded breath, he extended his senses to Mike—using the link that had developed after six years of making love and feeding from the Immortal—and was almost instantly bombarded by a myriad of images—Buffy, Spike, Drusilla...ghost...a whispered threat...

And guilt...such guilt haunted his nina...guilt that she was alive while Buffy—a warrior—a champion of the Light had died... _might be my fault...prophecy...my fault..._

Stunned, Vachon pulled out of her thoughts and silently groaned. _Only Mike,_ he thought to himself. _Only she would blame herself for something that was so far beyond her control, it was outrageous to think otherwise..._ "Michelle, one doesn't control prophecy. You know that," he whispered against her hot, wet cheek. "It's the will of God or whomever calls the shots."

Sighing heavily, she shook her head no as her hands clutched his bare chest in desperation. "No, Vachon. Don't you see? She could still be alive—up there in his bed—if it weren't for me. I killed her and took her place—four nights ago she slept on the same bed as I am now...four nights ago, she made love to him—told him that she would always love him—four nights ago, Spike felt as if everything in his life—other than a little bit of missing me—had finally fallen into place," she paused for a moment, sat up and pulled out a cigarette. After lighting it, she turned around, clutching her legs close to her chest as she rocked her herself. Softly, she began to speak again: "He and Angel **_finally_** repaired their relationship—they didn't go back to being lovers or...or that sire-childe thing that they had going—but they did become friends...very good friends. Best friends," she added, blowing out a mouthful of smoke. 

"And now it's gone. All of it. Because of me. And don't tell me I'm nuts, I've been there, with Wesley and Giles for two days searching for something to explain what happened." She snorted without humor. 

"Mike, she was the slayer. Who's to say that she and Spike would have even gotten together if you hadn't come into the picture. Remember, you're the one that told him how he felt about her."

"But—"

"No," Vachon said, shaking his head. "I'm not letting you take the blame for this. You know, as well as I do, that she wouldn't have let herself be with him if he hadn't gotten his soul...and you are the reason he has a soul."

Shaking her head in denial, Mike shot up off the couch and began pacing in front the couch. "But she died because of this fucking prophecy! That's the only reason and I don't know how I'm going to tell Giles that. It's going to break everyone's heart. Willow had to die, so she could become Immortal. Angel had to lose his soul so he could become a Souled-One. I'll betcha it was Dru that came up with this plan to somehow snare Angel—and the Powers used that situation to make everything else happened that needed to happen."

"Even if that's so, nina, why are you taking the blame?" Vachon asked, schooling his face to keep it on Mike even as he felt Spike presence at the top of the stairs. 

Mike clenched her jaw and stared off to the side. Vachon saw her body shake and once again felt a wave of fear fill the room. "Because I heard her—inside of me—accusing me of stealing her life."

Vachon began shaking his head even as his mind kept telling him that there was something more to this...something else in her mind...

"No, no, nina, no! You gotta quit this!" Growling, he pulled her stiff body into his arms and called out over his shoulder. "Spike! Get your butt down here!"

Just as he heard the steps creek with the other vampire's movements, everything went to hell.


End file.
